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Corporation 


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23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  NY.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


^^ 


\ 


<^ 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiquea 


I 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notos/Notas  tachniquaa  at  bibliographiquas 


Tha 
toO 


Tha  Instituta  has  attamptad  to  obtain  tha  bast 
original  copy  availabia  for  filming.  Faaturas  of  this 
copy  which  may  ba  bibliographically  uniqua. 
which  may  altar  any  of  tha  imagas  in  tha 
raproduction.  or  which  may  significantly  changa 
tha  usual  mathod  of  filming,  ara  chackad  balow. 


□    Coloured  covers/ 
Couverture  de  couleur 


I      I   Covers  damaged/ 


D 


D 
D 
D 
0 

D 


D 


Couverture  endommagia 

Covers  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Couverture  restaurAe  et/ou  pelliculAe 


□   Cover  title  missing/ 
Le 


titre  de  couverture  manque 


I      I   Coloured  maps/ 


Cartes  giographiques  en  couleur 

Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)/ 
Encre  de  couleur  (I.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 


Coloured  plates  and/or  illustrations/ 
Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couleur 


Bound  with  other  material/ 
ReliA  avec  d'autres  documents 

Tight  binding  may  cause  shadows  or  distortion 
along  interior  margin/ 

La  re  iiure  serr^e  peut  causer  de  I'ombre  ou  de  la 
distortion  le  long  de  la  marge  intirieure 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restoration  may 
appear  within  the  text.  Whenever  possible,  these 
have  been  omitted  from  filming/ 
II  se  peut  que  certaines  pages  blanches  ajouttos 
lors  d'une  restauration  apparaissent  dans  la  texte. 
mais,  lorsque  cela  Atait  possible,  ces  pages  n'ont 
pas  AtA  film6es. 

Additional  comments:/ 
Commentaires  supplimentaires; 


L'Institut  a  microfilm^  le  meilleur  exemplaire 
qu'ii  lu<  a  4tA  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  details 
de  cet  ( xempiaire  qui  sont  peut-Atre  uniques  du 
point  de  vue  bibliographique.  qui  peuvent  modifier 
une  image  reproduite.  ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  una 
modification  dans  la  mithoda  normale  de  filmaga 
sont  indiquAs  ci-dessous. 


I      I   Coloured  pages/ 


D 
D 


This  item  is  filmed  at  the  reduction  ratio  checked  below/ 

Ce  document  est  filmi  au  taux  de  rMuction  indiquA  ci-dessous. 


Pages  de  couleur 

Pages  damaged/ 
Pages  endommagias 

Pages  restored  and/oi 

Pages  restaur6es  et/ou  pelliculdes 

Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxet 
Pages  ddcolor^es,  tachetdes  ou  piqudes 

Pages  detached/ 
Payes  d^tachdes 

Showthrough/ 
Transparence 

Quality  of  prir 

Qualiti  inigale  de  I'impression 

Includes  supplementary  materii 
Comprend  du  materiel  suppl^mentaire 


I — I  Pages  damaged/ 

I      I  Pages  restored  and/or  laminated/ 

I      I  Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed/ 

I      I  Pages  detached/ 

I      I  Showthrough/ 

rri  Quality  of  print  varies/ 

I      I  Includes  supplementary  material/ 


Tha 
post 
of  t» 
film 


Grig 

bagi 

tha 

sion 

othfl 

first 

sion 

or  ill 


The 
shal 
TINl 
whic 

Map 
diffa 
entir 
begii 
right 
requ 
metl 


Only  edition  available/ 
Seule  Edition  disponible 

Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata 
slips,  tissues,  etc..  have  been  refilmed  to 
ensure  the  best  possible  image/ 
Les  pages  totalement  ou  partiellement 
obscurcies  par  un  feuiliet  d'errata,  une  pelure, 
etc.,  ont  St6  film^es  d  nouveau  de  fapon  d 
obtenir  la  meilleure  image  possible. 


10X 

14X 

18X 

22X 

26X 

»X 

7 

12X 

16X 

aox 

24X 

28X 

32X 

Th«  copy  filmed  h«r«  hM  b««n  r«produc«d  thanks 
to  the  generosity  of: 


L'exemplaire  filmA  f ut  reproduit  grice  A  la 
ginArositi  de: 


Univtrsity  of  Toronto  Library 


Univtrtity  of  Toronto  Library 


The  images  appearing  here  are  the  best  quality 
possible  considering  the  condition  end  legibility 
of  the  original  copy  and  in  iceeping  with  the 
filming  contract  specifications. 


Les  images  suivantes  ont  *tA  reproduites  avec  le 
plus  grand  soin.  compte  tenu  de  la  condition  et 
de  la  nettet*  de  l'exemplaire  film*,  et  en 
conformity  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
filmage. 


Original  copies  in  printed  paper  covers  are  filmed 
beginning  with  the  front  cover  and  ending  on 
the  last  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, or  the  back  cover  when  appropriate.  All 
other  original  copies  are  filmed  beginning  on  the 
first  page  with  a  printed  or  Illustrated  Impres- 
sion, and  ending  on  the  last  page  with  a  printed 
or  illustrated  impression. 


Les  exempiaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  ImprimAe  sent  filmis  en  commenpant 
par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
dernlAre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration,  soit  par  le  second 
plat,  salon  le  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exempleires 
originaux  sont  filmAs  en  commen^ant  par  la 
premlAre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  derniire  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  — ►  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 


Un  des  symboies  suivants  apparaftra  sur  la 
derni6re  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbols  — ►  signifie  "A  SUIVRE".  le 
symbols  y  signifie  "FIN". 


Maps,  plates,  cherts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  et 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  es 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc..  peuvent  Atre 
filmis  A  des  taux  de  rMuction  diffirents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  Atre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  clichA,  il  est  film*  *  partir 
de  I'angle  sup*rieur  gauche,  de  gauche  A  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas.  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  nAcessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mtthode. 


1 

2 

3 

32X 


1 

2 

3 

'      4 

5 

6 

Presented  to  the 
LIBRARY  of  the 

UNIVERSITY  OF  TORONTO 

by 

THE  ESTATE  OF  THE  LATE 


/; 


MARY  SINCLAIR 


Y''"^^. 


.'"  "irH  s 


1 


i'tu'i'n  tion  oj  "  Mitstc! /'/i  1. 1\\ 


WUU  \VAI)S\ViiRTII  LONf.FULOW 


Evanij^clinc 

U'it/i  nil  moons  or/'x/'/ti/  illitst  rat  ions  hy 
CHARLP:s  HOWARD  JOHNSON 


NKW  YORK 
Frederick   A.  Stokes  Company 

I'l'BI.ISHERS 


\ 


f 


i  i 


Frederiik  A.  Stokes  Company 

Copyright^  1894,  by 
Frederick  A.  Stokes  Company 


1 


«■ 


»»..«, <<!5wl^' 


4i 


HOMEWA  -^D      SERENELY 


SHE 


WALKED    WITH     GOD  S    BENEDIC- 
TION I'I'ON   HEK. 
WHEN    SHE  HAD  PASSED  IT  SEEMED 
LIKE   THE  CEASING  OF  EXQUISII  R 


music'  —/'rt^V  13. 


f 

\ 


-' 


levanoeUnc. 


'I 


[ 


A  TALE  OF   ACADIE. 

This  is  the  forest   primeval.    The  mur- 
muring,'p»"^^  ^"^<^^  the  hemlock, 

Bearded    with    moss,  and    in    j^^armcnts 
green,  indistinct  in  the  twilight. 

Stand  like  Druids  of  eld,  with  voices  sad 
and  prophetic. 

Stand  like  harpers  hoar,  with  beards  that 
rest  on  their  bosoms. 

Loud   from   its  rocky  caverns,  the  deep- 
voiced  neighboring  ocean 

Speaks,   and  in  accents  disconsolate  an- 
swers the  wail  of  the  forest. 

This  is  the  forest  primeval;  but  where 
are  the  hearts  that  beneath  it 
Leaped  like  the   roe,  when  he  hears  in 
ihe  woodland  the  voice  of  the  hunts- 
man ? 


■? 


K  V  A  N  Cj  K  L  i  N  li  . 


Where   is   the  iliaich-roofcd    village,  llic 

home  of  Acadian  farmers, — 
Men   whose  lives  ^Mided    on  like    rivers 

that  water  the  woodlands. 
Darkened   by  shadows  of  earth,  but   re- 

Hectinj^  an  imaj^e  of  heaven  ? 
Waste   are  those  pleasant  farms,  and  the 

farmers  forever  departed  ! 
Scattered  like   dust  and  leaves,  when  the 

mighty  blasts  of  October 
Seize   them,   and    whirl  them  aloft,   and 

spr'nkle  them  far  o'er  the  ocean, 
Naught   but     tradition    remains    of    the 

beautiful  village  of  Grand-Pre. 

Ye  v/ho  believe  in  affection  that  hopes, 

and  endures,  and  is  patient. 
Ye     who     believe    in    the    beauty    and 

strength  of  woman's  devotion. 
List  to  the  mournful  tradition  still  sung 

by  the  pines  of  the  forest; 
List  to  a  Tale  of  Love   in   Acadie,  home 

of  the  happy. 


I 


K  \  AN  C,  K  L  1  N  K  . 


PART  THE  FIRST. 
I. 

In   the    Acadian  land,  on  the   shores  of 

the  Basin  of  iMinas, 
Distant,  secluded,  still,  the  little   village 

of  Grand-Pre 
Lay  in  the  fruitlul  valley.   Vast  meadows 

stretched  to  the  eastward, 
Giving  the  village  its  name,  and   pasture 

to  flocks  without  number. 
Dikes,  that  the  hands  of  the  farmers  had 

raised  with  labor  incessant, 
Shut    out   the    turbulent   tides;    but  at 

stated  seasons  the  floodgates 
Opened,  and  welcomed  the  sea  to  wan- 
der at  will  o'er  the  meadows. 
West  and  south  there  were  fields  of  flax, 

and  orchards  and  cornfields 
Spreading  afar  and  unfenced    o'er  the 

plain;  and  away  to  the  northward 
Blomidon  rose,  and  the   forests  old,  and 

aloft  on  the  mountains 
Sea-fogs  pitched   their  tents,  and  mists 

from  the  mighty  Atlantic 
Looked   on  the  happy  valley,  but  ne'er 
from  their  station  descended. 


^1 


I 


lO 


K  \   A  N  (;  !•:  1.  I  N  K  . 


There,  in  the  midst  of  its  farms,  reposed 
the  Acadian  viUaj^fe. 

Stronj^'ly  built  were  the  houses,  with 
frames  of  oak  and  of  chestnut, 

Such  as  the  peasants  of  Ncjrmandy  built 
in  the  rei^n  of  the  Henries. 

Thatched  were  the  roofs,  with  dormer- 
windows  ;  and  gables  projecting 

Over  the  basement  below  protected  and 
shaded  the  doorway. 

There  in  the  tranquil  evenings  of  sum- 
mer, when  brightly  the  sunset 

Lighted  the  village  street,  and  gilded  the 
vanes  on  the  chimneys. 

Matrons  and  maidens  sat  in  snow-white 
caps  and  in  kirtles 

Scarlet  and  blue  and  green,  with  distafifs 
spinning  the  golden 

Flax  for  the  gossiping  looms,  whose  noisy 
shuttles  within  doors 

Mingled  their  sound  with  the  whir  of  the 
wheels  and  the  songs  of  the  maidens. 

Solemnly  down  the  street  came  the  par- 
ish priest,  and  the  children 

Paused  in  their  play  to  kiss  the  hand  he 
extended  to  bless  them. 

Reverend  walked  he  among  them;  and 
up  rose  matrons  and  maidens. 


EVANGEL  INK. 


It 


Hailing  his  slow  approach  with  words  of 

affectionate  welcome. 
Then   came  the  laborers  home  from  the 

tield,  and  serenely  the  sun  sank 
Do.vn    to   his    rest,  and    twilight    pre- 
vailed.     Anon   froni 
the  belfry 
Softly  the  Angelus  sound- 
ed, and  over  the  roots 
of  the  village 
Columns    of    pale     blue 
smoke,  like  clouds  of 
incense  ascending, 
Rose     from    a     hundred 
hearts,  the  homes  of 
peace    and     content- 
ment. 
Thus  dwelt  together    in 
love      these      simple 
Acadian  farmers, — 
Dwelt  in  the  love  of  God 
and   of    man.      Alike 
were  they  free  from 
Fear,    that    reigns    with 
the  tyrant,  and  envy, 
the  vice  of  republics. 
Neither  locks  had  they  to  their  doors, 
nor  bars  lo  their  windows; 


KEVERRND  WALKED 
HE  AMONG  IHEM." 


w 


i; 


12 


K  V  A  N  G  K  I.  I  N  K 


Bui  iliL-ir  dwelliniifs  were  open  as  day 
and  the  hearts  of  the  owners  ; 

There  the  richest  was  poor,  and  the 
poorest  lived  in  abundance. 

Somewhat  apart  from  the  villajje,  and 

nearer  the  Basin  of  Minas, 
Benedict    Bellefontaine,    the   wealthiest 

farmer  of  Grand-Pre, 
Dwelt  on  his  goodly  acres;  and  with  him, 

directing  his  household, 
Gentle   Evangeline  lived,  his  child,  and 

the  pride  of  the  village. 
Stal worth  and  stately    in  form   was  the 

man  of  seventy  winters  ; 
Hearty  and  hale  was  he,  an  oak  that  jS 

covered  with  snowflakes  ; 
White  as  the  snow  were  his  locks,   and 

his  cheeks  as  brown  as  the  oak-leaves. 
Fair  was  she  to   behold,  that  maiden  of 

seventeen  summers. 
Black  were  her  eyes  as  the  berry  that 

grows  on  the  thorn  by  the  wayside. 
Black,  yet    how    softly     they    gleamed 

beneath    the    brown   shade    of    her 

tresses ! 
Sweet  was  her  breath  as  the  breath  of 

kine  that  feed  in  the  meadows. 


K  \-  A  \  (i  !•:  I.  INK. 


«3 


When   in  the  harvest  heat  she  bore  to 

the  reapers  at  noontide 
Flagons  of    home-brewed   ale,  ah !  fair 

in  sooth  was  the  maiden, 
Fairer  was  she  when,  on  Sunday  morn, 

while  the  bell  from  its  turret 
Sprinkled   with  holy  sounds  the  air,  as 

the  priest  with  his  hyssop 
Sprinkles  the  congregation,  and  scatters 

blessings  upon  them, 
Down  the  long  street  she  passed,   with 

her  chaplet  of  beads  and  her  mis- 
sal, 
Wearing  her  Norman  cap,  and  her  kirtle 

of  blue,  and  *Ke  earrings, 
Brought  in  the  olden  time  from  France, 

and  since,  as  an  heirloom, 
Handed    down    from   mother    to  child, 

through  long  generations. 
But     a     celestial      brightness — a    more 

ethereal  beauty^ 
Shone    on  her    face    and   encircled   her 

form,  when,  after  confession. 
Homeward    serenely    she    walked    with 

God's  benediction  upon  her. 
When  she  had  passed,  it  seemed  like  the 

ceasing  of  exquisite  music. 


t4 


K  V  A  N  V.  I:  I.  1  >.  E 


Firmly  builded  with  rafters  of  oak,  the 
house  of  the  farmer 

Stood  on  the  side  of  a  hill  commanding^ 
the  sea  ;  and  a  shady 

Sycamore  j^rew  by  the  door,  with  a 
woodbine  wreathing  around  it. 

Rudely  carved  was  the  porch,  with  seats 
beneath  ;  and  a  footpath 

Led  through  an  orchard  wide,  and  dis- 
appeared in  the  meadow. 

Under  the  sycamore-tree  were  hives  over- 
hung by  a  penthouse,     , 
'Such   as    the   traveller  sees    in    regions 
remote  by  the  road-side. 

Built  o'er  a  box  for  the  poor,  jr  the 
blessed  image  of  Mary. 

Farther  down,  on  the  slope  of  the  hill, 
was  the  well  with  its  moss-grown 

Bucket,  fastened  with  iron,  and  near  it  a 
trough  for  the  horses. 

Shielding  the  house  from  storms,  on  the 
north,  were  the  barns  and  the  farm- 
yard, 

There  stood  the  broad-wheeled  wains  and 
the  antique  ploughs  and  the  har- 
rows; 

There  were  the  folds  for  the  sheep  ;  and 
there,  in  his  feathered  seraglio. 


\ 


E  V  A  N  CI  i:  L  I  N  K  . 


Strutted    llie  lordly    turkey,  and  crowed 
the  cock,  with  the  self-same 

Voice  that  in  ages  of  old  had  startled  the 
penitent  l*eter. 

Burstinjj  with  hay  were  the  barns,  them- 
selves a  villaj^e.     In  each  one 

Far  oVr  the  ^^ible  projected   a  root   of 
thatch  ;  and  a  staircase, 

Under  the  shelterin}^  eaves,  led  up  to  the 
odorous  corn-loft. 

There  too  the  dove-cot  stood,  with  its 
meek  and  innocent  inmates 

Murmuring  ever  of    love,  while    above 
in  the  variant  breezes 

Numberless   noisy  weathercocks  rattled 
and  sanyr  of  mutation. 


m 


:  mi 
i  ffil 


\ 


Thus,  at  peace  with  God  and  the  world, 

the  farmer  of  Grand-Pre 
Lived  on  his  sunny  farm,  and  Evan<?e':ne 

governed  his  household. 
Many  a  youth,  as  he  knelt  in  the  church 

and  opened  his  missal, 
Fixed  his  eyes  upon  her,  as  the  saint  of 

his  deepest  devotion  ; 
Happy  was  he  who  might  touch  her  hand 

or  the  hem  of  her  garment ! 


9 'I 


■ 


i6 


E  V  A  N  G  K  I,  I  N  R  . 


Many  a  suitor  came  to  her  door,  by  the 

darkness  befriended. 
And,  as  hf*  knocked  and  waited  to  hear 

the  sound  of  her  footsteps, 
Knew  not   which   beat  the    louder,  his 

heart  or  the  knocker  of  iron  ; 
Or   at    the  joyous  feast    of  the  Patron 

Saint  of  the  village, 
Bolder  grew,  and  pressed  her  hand  in  the 

danc:  as  he  whispered 
Hurried  worJs  of  love,  that  seemed  a 

part  of  the  music. 
Bit,  among  all  who  came,  young  Gabriel 

only  was  weicome ; 
Gabriel  Lajeunesse,  the  son  of  Basil  the 

blacksmith, 
Who  was  a  mighty  man  in   the  village, 

and  honored  of  all  men; 
For  since  the  birth  of  time,  throughout 

all  ages  and  nations. 
Has  the  craft  of  the  smith  been  held  in 

repute  by  the  people. 
Basil  was  Benedict's  friend.    Their  chil- 
dren from  earliest  childhood 
Grew  up  together  as  brother  and  sister ; 

and  Father  Felician, 
Priest  and  pedagogue  both  in  the  village, 

had  taught  them  their  letters 


"basil  the  blacksmith.'' 


I  8 


!  ^ 


48 


K  V  A  N  (i  K  I,  I  N  K 


Out  of  the  selfsame  book,  with  the  hymns 

of  the  church  and  the  plain-son^. 
But  when  the   hymn  was  sun^%  and  the 

daily  lesson  completed, 
Swiftly  they  hurried  away  to  the  forge  of 

Basil  the  blacksmith. 
There     at    the    door    they    stood,    with 

wondering;  eyes  to  behold  him 
Take  in  his  leathern  lap  the  hoof  of  the 

horse  as  a  plaything, 
Nailing  the  shoe  in  its  place  ;  while  near 

him  the  tire  of  the  cart-wheel 
Lay  like  a  Hery  snake,  coiled  round   in  a 

circle  of  cinders. 
Oft  on  autumnal  eves,  when   without  in 

the  gathering  darkness 
Bursting  with  light  seemed   the  smithy, 

through  every  cranny  and  crevice, 
Warm  by  the  forge  within  they  watched 

the  laboring  bellows. 
And  as  its  panting  ceased,  and  the  sparks 

expired  in  the  ashes, 
Merrily    laughed,    and    said  they  were 

nuns  going  into  the  chapel. 
Oft  on  sledges  in  winter,  as  swift  as  the 

swoop  of  the  eagle, 
Down  the  hillside  bounding,  they  glided 

away  o'er  the  meadow. 


K  V  A  N  (;  K  I.  I  N  K. 


«9 


Oft  in   the   barns    they  climbed    to  the 

populous  nests  on  the  rafters, 
Seeking  with  eager  eyes  that  wondrous 

stone,  which  the  swallow 
Brings  from  the  shore  of  the  sea  to  re- 
store the  sight  of  its  fledglings  ; 
Lucky  was  he  who  found  that  stone  in  the 

nest  of  the  swallow  ! 
Thus  passed  a  few  swift  years,  and  they 

no  longer  were  children. 
He  was  a  valiant  youth,  and   his  face, 

like  the  face  of  the  morning. 
Gladdened  the  earth  with  its  light,  and 

ripened  thought  into  action. 
She  was  a  woman  now,  with  the  heart 

and  hopes  of  a  woman. 
"Sunshine  of   Saint    Eulalie"    was  she 

called  ;  for  that  was  the  sunshine 
Which,  as  the  farmers  believed,   would 

load  their  orchards  "vith  apples. 
She,  too,  would  bring  to  her  husband's 

house  delight  and  abundance. 
Filling  it  full  of  love  and  the  ruddy  faces 

of  children. 


'M 


m 


i 


J 


•h 


'   I 


in 


I  i 


II. 

Now  had  the  season  returned,  when  the 
nights  grow  colder  and  longer. 


! 


II 


30 


K  V  A  N  (.  K  I.  I  N  K. 


And  the  retreating'  sun  the  sign  of  the 

Scorpion  enters. 
Birds  of  |)assaKc  sailed  tlirough  the  leaden 

air,  from  the  ice-hound. 
Desolate  northern  bays  to  the  shores  of 

tropical  islands. 
Harvests  were  j^atliered   in  ;    and    wild 

with  the  winds  of  September 
Wrestled  the  trees  of  the  forest,  as  Jacob 

of  old  with  the  an^el. 
All   the  sij,Mis  foretold  a  winter  long  and 

inclement. 
Bees,   with  prophetic    instinct  of  want, 

had  hoarded  their  honey 
Till  the  hives  overflowed  ;  and  the  Indian 

hunters  asserted 
Cold  would  the  winter  be,  for  thick  was 

the  fur  of  the  foxes. 
Such  was  the  advent  of  autumn.     Then 

followed  that  beautiful  season, 
Called  by  the  pious  Acadian  peasants  the 

Summer  of  All-Saints  ! 
Filled   was  the  air  with  a  dreamy  and 

magical  light ;  and  the  landscape 
Lay  as  if  new-created  in  all  the  freshness 

of  childhood. 
Peace  seemed  to  reign  upon  earth,  and 

th»  restless  heart  of  the  ocean 


»'.  V  A  N  O  K  L  I  N  h  . 


21 


Was  for  a  moment  consoled.     All  bounds 

were  in  harmony  blended. 
Voices  of  cliildren  at  play,  the  crowinj,' 

of  cocks  in  the  farmyards, 
Whir  of  win^fs  in  the  drowsy  air,  and  the 

cooing  of  pij^^eons, 
All  were  subdued  and  low  as  the  mur- 
murs of  love,  and  the  great  sun 
Looked  with  tiie  eye  of  love  through  the 

golden  vapors  around  him  ; 
While  arrayed  in  its  robes  of  russet  and 

scarlet  and  yellow. 
Bright  with  the  sheen  of  the  dew,  each 

glittering  tree  of  the  forest 
Flashed   like  the  plane-tree  the  Persian 

adorned  with  mantles  and  jewels. 


I  ■   ;       I 

m 


Now  recommenced  the  reign  of  rest 
and  affection  and  stillness. 

Day  with  its  burden  and  heat  had  de- 
parted, and  twilight  descending 

Brought  back  the  evening  star  to  the 
sky,  and  the  herds  to  the  home- 
stead. 

Pawing  the  ground  they  came,  and  rest- 
ing their  necks  on  each  other. 

And  with  their  nostrils  distended  inhail- 
ing  the  freshness  of  evening. 


I' 


I 


Si 

i 


5;' 


22 


K  \    A  N  i,  K  L  1  N  K  , 


Foremost,  bearing?  the  bell,  Kvanj^eline's 

beautiful  heifer, 
Proul  of  her  snow-white  hide,  and  the 

ribbon  that  waved  from  her  collar, 
Quietly  paced  and  slow,  as  if  conscious 

of  human  afifection. 
Then  came  the  shepherd  back   with  his 

bleating  tiocks  from  the  seaside, 
Where  was   their  favorite  pasture.     Be« 

hind  them  followed  the  watch-dog, 
Patient,  full  of  importance,  and  grand  in 

the  pride  of  his  instinct. 
Walking  from  side  to  side  with  a  lordly 

air,  and  superbly 
Waving  his  bushy  tail,  and  urging  for- 
ward the  stragglers  ; 
Regent  of  tiocks  was  he  when  the  shep- 
herd slept ;  their  protector, 
When  from  the  forest  at  night,  through 

the  starry  silence,  the  wolves  howledc 
Late,  with  the  rising  moon,  returned  the 

wains  from  the  marshes, 
Laden  with  briny  hay  that  filled  the  air 

with  its  odor. 
Cheerily  neighed  the    steeds,  with  dew 

on  their  manes  and  their  fetlocks. 
While  aloft  on  their  shoulders  the  wooden 

and  ponderous  saddles, 


■■*! 


E  \    A  N  C".  E  1.  I  N  K 


23 


m\ 


Painted  wiili  brilliant  dyes,  and  adorned 

with  tassels  of  crimson, 
Nodded  in  brijjjht  array,  like  hollyhocks 

heavy  with  blossoms. 
Patiently  stood  the  cows  meanwhile, and 

yielded  their  udders 
Unto  the  milkmaid's  hand  ;  whilst  loud 

and  in  rep^ular  cadence 
Into    the    sounding    pails    the    foaming 

streamlets  descended. 
Lowing  of  cattle  and  peals  of  laughter 

were  heard  in  the  farmyard, 
Echoed  back  by  the  barns.     Anon  they 

sank  into  stillness ; 
Heavily  closed,  with  a  jarring  sound,  the 

valves  of  the  barn-doors, 
Rattled  the  wooden   bars,  and  all   for  a 

season  was  silent. 


';- 


!   i^ 


In-doors,  warm  by  the  wide-mouthed 
fireplace,  idly  the  farmer 

Sat  in  his  elbow  chair,  and  watched 
how  the  flames  and  the  smoke- 
wreaths 

Struggled  together  like  foes  in  a  burning 
city.     Behind  him, 

Nodding  and  mocking  along  the  wall, 
with  gestures  fantastic. 


ill 


I 


I 


1 

I 


84 


KVANGELINE 


! 


Darted   his     own    hufre     shadow,    and 

vanished  away  into  darkness. 
Faces,  clumsily    carved    in   oak,   on  the 

back  of  his  arm-chair 
Laughed  in  the  flickering  light,  and  the 

pewter  plates  on  the  dresser 
Caught  and  reflected  the  flame,  as  shields 

of  armies  the  sunshine. 
Fragments  of  song  the   old  man   sang, 

and  carols  of  Christmas, 
Such  as  at  home,  in  the  olden  time,  his 

fathers  before  him 
Sang  in    their    Norman    orchards    and 

bright  Burgundian  vineyards. 
Close  at  her  father's  side  was  the  gentle 

Evangeline  seated. 
Spinning  flax  for  the  loom,  that  stood  in 

the  corner  behind  her. 
Silent  awhile  were  its  treadles,   at  rest 

was  its  diligent  shuttle. 
While    the    monotonous    drone    of    the 

wheel,  like  the  drone  of  a  bagpipe, 
Followed  the  old  man's  song,  and  united 

the  fragments  together. 
As  in  a  church,  when  the  chant  of  the 

choir  at  intervals  ceases. 
Footfalls  are  heard  in  the  aisles,  or  words 

of  the  priest  at  the  altar, 


il 


K   \    A   N   c;   K  L   1    N    K.  25 

So,  in  each  pause  of  the  song,  with  meas- 
ured nrotion  the  clock  cliclced. 

Thus  as  they  sat,  there  were  footsteps 
heard,  and,  suddenly  lifted, 
Sounded  the  wooden  latch,  and  the  door 
swung  back  on  its  hinges. 


Mil' I 


•  >  i  ■* 
~  i  1 


"thus  as  they  sat,  there  were  foot- 
steps HEARD." 

Benedict  knew  by  the  hob-nailed  shoes 
it  was  Basil  the  blacksmith. 


n 


'  u 


■'I 
m 


>:» 


u6 


EVAN  C,  K  I.  I  N  K  . 


And    by    her  beating    heart  Evanj^eline 

knew  who  was  with  liiin. 
''Welcome!"   the  farmer  exclaimed,  as 

their  footsteps  paused  on  the  thresh- 
old, 
"Welcome.    Basil,    my    friend!     Come, 

take  thy  place  on  the  settle 
Close    by    the    chimney-side,    which    is 

always  empty  without  thee  ; 
Take   from  the  shelf  overhead  thy  pipe 

and  the  box  of  tobacco  ; 
Never  so  much  thyself  art  thou  as  when 

through  the  curling 
Smoke    of    the    pipe  or  the    forge    thy 

friendly  and  jovial  face  gleams 
Round    and   red    as    the   harvest  moon 

through    the    midst    of    the    marsh- 
es." 
Then,    with    a  smile    of    content,   thus 

answered  Basil  the  blacksmith, 
Taking  with    easy  air  the    accustomed 

seat  by  the  fireside  : — 
"  Benedict  Bellefontaine,  thou  hast  ever 

thy  jest  and  thy  ballad  ! 
Ever  in    cheerfullest    mood     art    thou, 

when  others  are  filled  with 
Gloomy  forebodings  of  ill,  and  see  only 

ruin  before  them. 


E  V  A  N  t;  E  L  I  N  E 


27 


Happy  art   thou,  as    if    every  day  thou 
hadst  picked  up  a  horse-shoe." 

Pausinjj  a  moment,  to  take  the  pipe  that 
Evangeline  brought  him. 

And   with   a  coal    from  the  embers  had 
lighted,  he  slowly  continued  : — 

"  Four  days  now  are    passed   since  the 
English  ships  at  their  anchors 

Ride    in    the  Gaspereau's    mouth,   with 
their  cannon  pointed  against  us. 

What  their  design  may  be  is  unknown; 
but  all  are  commanded 

On  the  morrow  to  meet  in  the  church, 
where  his  Majesty's  mandate 

Will  be  proclaimed   as  law  in  the  land. 
Alas  !  in  the  mean  time 

Many  surmises  of  evii  alarm  the    hearts 
of  the  people." 

Then  made  answer  the   farmer  : — "  Per- 
haps some  friendlier  purpose 

Brings  these  ships  to  our  sh  >res.     Per- 
haps the  harvests  in  England 

By   the    untimely  rains    or    untimelief 
heat  have  been  blighted. 

And  from  our  bursting  barns  they  would 
feed  their  cattle  and  children." 

**Not  so  thinketh  the  folk  in  the  village," 
said,  warmly,  the  blacksmith. 


'    J 


.*. 


U  ? 


• 


EVANGELINE. 


If ' 
■  i 

-  5  ■ 


Shaking  his   head,   as    in  doubt  ;   then, 

heaving  a  si^h  he  continued  : — 
*'  Louisbur^'  is  not  forffottcn,  not  Beau 

S^jour.  nor  Port  Royal. 
Many  already  have  Hed  to  the  forest,  and 
lurk  on  its  outskirts, 

Waitintj  with  anxious 
hearts    the   dubi- 
ous   fate    of    to- 
morrow. 
Arms  have  been  taken 
from  us,  and  war- 
like weapon  of  all 
kinds ; 
Nothing    is    left    but 
the     blacksmith's 
sledge     and     the 
scythe      of       the 
mower." 
Then  with  a  pleasant 
smile     made    an- 
swer    the    jovial 
farmer:— 
*'  Safer  are  we  unarmed,  in  the  midst  of 

our  flocks  and  our  cornfields, 
Safer  within   these    peaceful  dikes,  be- 
sieged by  the  ocean, 


THE  WORTHY 
NOTARY  EN- 
TERED." 


I 

1 


E  V  A  N  (;  K  L  I  N  E 


«9 


I  . 


Than  were  our  fathers  in  forts,  besieged 

by  the  enemy's  cannon. 
Fear   no  evil,   my   friend,   and    to-night 

may  no  shadow  of  sorrow 
Fall  on  this  house  and  hearth  ;  for  this  is 

the  night  of  the  contract. 
Built  are  the  house  and  the  barn.    The 

merry  lads  of  the  village 
Strongly  have  built  them  and  well  ;  and, 

breaking  the  glebe  round  about  them. 
Fi.ied  the  barn  with  hay,  and  the  house 

with  food  for  a  twelve-month. 
Rene   Leblanc  will    be   here  anon,  with 

his  papers  and  ink-horn. 
Shall  we  not  then  be  glad,  and  rejoice  in 

the  joy  of  our  children  ?  " 
As  apart  by  the  window  she  stood,  with 

her  hand  in  her  lover's, 
Blushing  Evangeline    heard   the  words 

that  her  father  had  spoken, 
And  as  they  died  on  his  lips,  the  worthy 

notary  entered. 

III. 

Bent  like  a  laboring  oar,   that  toils  in 

the  surf  of  the  ocean, 
Bent,  but  not    broken,  by  age  was  the 

form  of  the  notary  public  ; 


'I   !. 


li 


i, 
i^-    ill 

•hi 


•  !     J 


ill 


u 


3° 


K  V  A  \  C,  K  L  I  N  K 


Shocks  of   yellow   hair,    like    ihe   sii^cii 

floss  of  the  maize,  hung 
Over  his  shoulders ;    his  forehead    was 

hij?h  ;  and  jjlasses  with  horn  bows 
Sat  astride   on  his  nose,  with  a   look   of 

wisdom  supernal. 
Father  of  twenty  children    was  he,  and 

more  than  a  hundred 
Children's    children    rode  on  his    knee, 

and  heard  his  great  watch  tick. 
Four  long  years  in  the  times  of  the  war 

had  he  languished  a  captive, 
Suffering  much  in  an  old  French  fort  as 

the  friend  of  the  English, 
Now,  though  warier  grown,  without  all 

guile  or  suspicion, 
Ripe    in  wisdom   was   he,    but   patient, 

and  simple,  and  childlike. 
He  was  beloved  by  all,  and  most  of  all 

by  the  children  ; 
For  he  told  them  tales  of  the  Loup-garou 

in  the  forest. 
And    of    the   goblin    that    came   in    the 

night  to  water  the  horses, 
And  of  the  white  Letiche,  the  ghost  of 

a  child  who  unchristened 
Died,  and  was  doomed  to  haunt  unseen 

the  chambers  of  children ; 


K  V  A  N  c;  !•;  I,  I  N  li  . 


3« 


And  how  on    Christinas  eve    the    oxen 

talked  in  the  stable. 
And    how    tlic    fever   was    cured    by  a 

spider  shut  up  in  a  nutshell, 
And  of  the  marvellous  i)()wers  of  four- 
leaved  clover  and  horseslioes, 
With    whatsoever   else    was  writ  in  the 

lore  of  the  village. 
Then  up  rose  from  his  seat  by  the  fire- 
side Basil  the  blacksmith, 
Knocked  from  his  pipe   the   ashes,   and 

slowly  extcndinfj  his  risjlit  hand, 
*'  Father  Leblanc,"  he  exclaiined.  '*  thoa 

hast  heard  the  talk  in  the  villafre. 
And.  perchance,  canst  tell  us  some  news 

of  these  ships  and  their  errand." 
Then     with     modest     demeanor     made 

answer  the  notary  public, — 
*' Gossip  enoujjh  have  I  heard,  in  sooth, 

yet  am  never  the  wiser  ; 
And  what  their  errand  may  be  I  know 

not  better  than  others. 
Yet  am  I  not  of  those  who  imagine  some. 

evil  intention 
Brings  them  here,  for  we  are  at  peace; 

and  why  then  molest  us  ?  " 
*'  God's  name  !  "    shouted  the  hasty  and. 

somewhat  irascible  blacksmith; 


!  '  il 


:>! 


3« 


K  V  A  N  (i  K  I.  I  N  k 


"  Must  we  in  all  things  look  for  the  how. 

and  the  why,  and  the  wherefore? 
Daily   injustice    is  done,  and    might  is 

the  right  of  the  strongest ! " 
But,  without  heeding  his  warmth,  con- 
tinued the  notary  public— 
**  Man  is  unjust,  but  God  is  just;   and 

finally  justice 
Triump?  . ;  and  well  I  remember  a  story, 

that  often  consoled  me, 
When  as    a  captive    I  lay    in  the    old 

French  fort  at  Port  Royal." 
This  was  the  old  man*s   favorite  tale, 

and  he  loved  to  repeat  it 
Whenever    neighbors    complained    that 

any  injustice  was  done  them. 
**Once  in  an  ancient  city,  whose  name 

I  no  longer  remember, 
Raised  aloft  on  a  column,  a  brazen  statue 

of  Justice 
Stood  in    the  public  square,  upholding 

the  scales  in  its  left  hand, 
And  in  its  right  a  sword,  as  an  emblem 

that  justice  presided 
Over    the   laws  of   the   land,  and    the 

hearts  and  homes  of  the  people. 
Even  the  birds  had  built  their  nests  in 

the  scales  of  the  balance, 


w 


K  V  A  N  G  E  L  I  N  K 


U 


Having  no  fear  of  the  sword  that  flashed 
in  the  sunshine  above  them. 

But  in  the  course  of  time  the  laws  of 
the  land  were  corrupted  ; 

Mi^^ht  took  the  place  of  right,  and  the 
weak  were  oppressed,  and  the  mighty 

Ruled  with  an  iron  rod.  Then  it  chanced 
in  a  nobleman's  palace 

That  a  necklace  of  pearls  was  lost,  and 
erelong  a  suspicion 

Fell  on  an  orphan  girl  who  lived  as 
maid  in  the  household. 

She,  after  form  of  trial  condemned  to 
die  on  the  scaffold. 

Patiently  met  her  doom  at  the  foot  of 
the  statue  of  Justice. 

As  to  her  Father  in  heaven  her  inno- 
cent spirit  ascended, 

Lo !  o'er  the  city  a  tempest  rose ;  and 
the  bolts  of  the  thunder 

Smote  the  statue  of  bronze,  and  hurled 
in  wrath  from  its  left  hand 

Down  on  the  pavement  below  the  clat- 
tering scales  of  the  balance, 

And  in  the  hollow  thereof  was  found 
the  nest  of  a  magpie, 

Into  whose  clay-built  walls  the  neck- 
lace of  pearls  was  inwoven." 


I    ! 


34 


K  V  A  N  (.  K  L  I  N  K 


f 


Silenced,  but  not  convinced,  wlien  the 
story  was  ended,  the  bl.»cksmiih 

Stood  like  a  man  who  fain  would 
speak,  but  findcili  no  lanj^ua^e  ; 

And  all  his  thoughts  congealed  into  Unes 
on  his  face,  as  the  vapors 

Freeze  in  fantastic  shapes  on  the  win- 
dow-panes in  the  winter. 

Then   Evangeline  lighted    the    brazen 
lamp  on  tlie  lablt^, 


"  WROTE  WITH  A  STEADY  HAND.'* 


K  \    A  N  (.  I'.  LIS  K  . 


35 


Filled,   till     it   ovcrtlovved,    ilu"     pcwtir 

laiikard  with  liomc-brfwcd 
Nut-brown  ale,   that  was   fauud    lor  its 

strcnifth  ill  the  villa<;e  of  (Iraiul-Pre; 
Willie    troin   his    pockci  the  notary  drew 

his  papers  and  inl<-horn, 
Wrote  with  a  steady  hand  the  date  and 

the  a^'e  of  the  parlies, 
Naming     the    dower     of    the    bride    in 

flocks  of  sheep  and  in  cattle. 
Ordirly  all  thiiij^^s  proceeded,  and  duly 

and  well  were  completed, 
And    the   great  seal   of  the  law  was  set 

like  a  sun  on  the  marf^nn. 
Then  from  his  leathern  pouch  the  farmer 

threw  on  the  table 
Three   times  the  old  man's    fee  in  solid 

pieces  of  silver ; 
And    the   notary  rising,  and  blessing  the 

bridegroom, 
Lifted  aloft  the  tankard  of  ale  and  drank 

to  their  welfare. 
Wiping    the    foam     from,     his     lip,    he 

solemnly  bowed  and  departed, 
While  in  silence  the  others  sat  and  mused 

by  the  fireside, 
Till    Evangeline    brought    the  draught- 
board oi'.t  of  its  corner. 


,1 


I  1 


'     il 


II 


t   1 

;  i 


f  m 


36 


EVANGELINE 


Soon  was  the  game  begun.     In  friendly 
contention  the  old  men 

Laughed  at    each    lucky  hit,  or  unsuc- 
cessful manoeuvre, 

Laughed  when  a  man  was  crowned,  or 
a  breach  was  made  in  the  king-row. 

Meanwhile  apart,  in  the  twilight  gloom 
of  a  window's  embrasure, 

Sat  the  lovers,  and  whispered  together, 
beholding  the  moon  rise 

Over  the  pallid  sea  and  the  silvery  mist 
of  the  meadows. 

Silently    one    by    one,   in    the    infinite 
meadows  of  heaven, 

Blossomed   the  lovely  stars,  the  forget- 
me-nots  of  the  angels. 


Thus  passed  the  evening  away.  Anon 
the  bell  from  the  belfry 

Rang  out  the  hour  of  nine,  the  village 
curfew,  and  straightway 

Rose  the  guests  and  departed ;  and 
silence  reigned  in  the  household. 

Many  a  farewell  word  and  sweet  good- 
night on  the  door-step 

Lingered  long  in  Evangeline's  heart, 
and  filled  it  with  gladness. 


EVANGELINE. 


37 


Carefully  then  were  covered  the  embers 

that  glowed  on  the  hearth-stone. 
And  on  the  oaken  stairs  resounded  the 

tread  of  the  farmer. 
Soon  with  a  soundless  s.ep  the  foot  of 

Evangeline  followed. 
Up  the  staircase  moved  a  luminous  space 

in  the  darkness, 
Lighted  less  by  the  lamp  than  the  shio- 

ing  face  of  the  maiden. 
Silent  she  passed  through  the  hall,  and 

entered  the  door  of  her  chamber, 
Simple    that  chamber  was,  with  its  cur* 

tains    of     white,    and    its    clothes- 
press 
Ample    and    high,  on  whose    spacious 

shelves  were  carefully  folded 
Linen  and  woollen  stuffs,  by  the  hand  of 

Evangeline  woven. 
This  was  the  precious  dower  she  would 

bring  to  her  husband  in  marriage, 
Better  than  flocks  and  herds,  being  proofs 

of  her  skill  as  a  housewife. 
Soon   she    extingu'shed    her  lamp,    for 

the  mellow  and  radiant  moonlight 
Streamed    through    the    windows,   and 

lighted   the  room«  till  the   heart  of 

the  maiden 


Ml 


38 


I'-.  \    A  N  (,  !•;  I,  1  .N  K 


Swelled    <iml  ()l)c'ycd  its  power,  like  the 

tretnulous  tides  of  the  ocean. 
Ah!     she   was    fair,    exceeding   fair    to 

belKjld,  as  she  stood  with 
Naked    snow-white    feet  on   the    gleam- 

in<,r  floor  of  her  chamber  ! 
Little   she   dreameil    that  below,    among 

the  trees  of  the  orchard, 
Waited    her  lover   and   watched  for  the 

gleam  of  her  lamp  and  her  shadow. 
Yet    were   her  thoughts    of  him,  and  at 

times  a  feeling  of  sadness 
Passed    o'er    her    soul,    as     the    sailing 

shade  of  clouds  in  the  moonlight 
Flitted    across    the    floor  and  darkened 

the  room  for  a  moment. 
And.  as    she    gazed  from    the  window, 

she  saw  serenely  the  moon  pass 
Forth    from  the  folds   of  a    cloud,  and 

one  star  follow  her  footsteps, 
As  out  of  Abraham's  tent  young  Ishmael 

wandered  with  Hagar  ! 


TV. 

Pleasantly  rose  next  morn  the  sun  on 

the  village  of  Grand-Pre. 
Pleasantly   gleamed    in    the    soft,  sweet 

air  the  Basin  of  Minas, 


!•:  \    A  N  (,  IC  I.  1  N  I: 


39 


Where    the  ships,  with    their    wavering 

shathnvs,  were  riding  at  anchor. 
Life  had   long  been  astir  in  the  village, 

and  clamorous  labor 
Knocked  with   its   hundred  hands  at  the 

golden  gates  of  the  morning. 
X(nv  from  the  country  around,  from  the 

farms  and  the  neighboring  hamlets, 
Came  in  their  holiday  dresses  the  blithe 

Acadian  peasants. 
Many  a  glad   good-morrow  and  jocund 

laugh  from  the  young  folk 
Made    the   bright     air    brighter,    as    up 

from  the  numerous  meadows, 
Where  no  path   could   be    seen  but   the 

track  of  wheels  in  the  greensward, 
Group  after  group  a})peared,  and  joined, 

or  passed  on  the  highway. 
Long  ere  noon,  in  the  village  all  sounds 

of  labor  were  silenced. 
Thronged  were  the  streets  with  people  ; 

and  noisy  groups  at  the  house-doors 
Sat   in    the  cheerful   sun,  and    rejoiced 

and  gossiped  together. 
Every  house    was    an    inn,     where    all 

were  welcomed  and  feasted  ; 
For  with  this  simple  people,  who  liv^ed 

like  brothers  together, 


, 


I 


40 


E  V  A  N  t;  K  L  I  N  E  . 


All  things  were   held    in  common,  and 

what  one  had  was  another's. 
Yet  undei     Benedict's    roof    hospitality 

seemed  more  abundant  : 
For  Evangeline  stood  among  the  guests 

of  her  father ; 
Bright  was  her  face    with   smiles,  and 

words  of  welcome  and  gladness 
Fell  from  her  beautiful  lips,  and  blessed 

the  cup  as  she  gave  it. 

Under  the  open  sky,  in  the  odorous 
air  of  the  orchard. 

Bending  with  golden  fruit,  was  spread 
the  feast  of  betrothal. 

There  in  the  shade  of  the  porch  were  the 
priest  and  the  notary  seated  ; 

There  good  Benedict  sat,  and  sturdy 
Basil  the  blacksmith. 

Not  far  withdrawn  from  these,  by  the 
cider-press  and  the  bee-hives, 

Michael  the  fiddler  was  placed,  witlt 
the  gayest  of  hearts  and  of  waist- 
coats. 

Shadow  and  light  from  the  leaves  alter- 
nately played  on  his  snow-white 

Hair,  as  it  waved  in  the  wind  ;  and  the 
jolly  face  of  the  fiddler 


fc  V  A  N  (i  E  L  1  N  E  . 


4X 


Glowed  like  a  living  coal  when  the 
ashes  are  blown  from  ihe  embers. 

Gayly  the  old  man  sang  to  the  vibrant 
sound  of  his  fiddle, 

Toms  les  Bourgeois  de  Chartres^  and 
Le  Carillon  de  Dunkerque^ 

And  anon  with  his  wooden  shoes  beat 
time  to  the  music. 

Merrily,  merrily  whirled  the  wheels  of 
the  dizzying  dances 

Under  the  orchard-trees  and  down  the 
path  to  the  meadows  ; 

Old  folk  and  young  together,  and  chil- 
dren mingled  among  them. 

Fairest  of  all  the  maids  was  Evangeline, 
Benedict's  daughter ! 

Noblest  of  all  the  youths  was  Gabriel, 
son  of  the  blacksmith  ! 


So  passed   the    morning  away.     And 

\c  \  with  a  summons  sonorous 
Sounded   the  bell   from   its  tower,   and 

over  the  meadows  a  drum  beat. 
Thronged  ere  long  was  the  church  with 

men.    Without,  in  the  churchyard, 
Waited  the  women.    They  stood  by  the 

graves,    and    hung    on    the    head* 

stones 


42 


i<;  \  A  N  (;  K  L  I  N  K  . 


i 


Garlatuls    of    autumii-k-avcs    and    cvcr- 

^'recns  fresh  from   ihe  forest. 
Then  rame  the  ^uard  from  the  ships,  and 

inarchinj,^  proudly  ainonj,''  them 
Entered    the   sacred    portal.     With   loud 

and  dissonant  clanj^or 
Echoed  the  sound  of  their  brazen  drums 

from  ceiling  and  casement, — 
Echoed   a  moment  only,  and    slowly  the 

ponderous  portal 
Closed,  and  in  silence  the  crowd  awaited 

the  will  of  the  soldiers. 
Then    uprose     their     commander,     and 

spake  from  the  steps  of  the  altar, 
Holdinj^  aloft  in  his  hands,  with  its  seals, 

th''  royal  commission. 
*' You   are  convened   this  day,"  he  said, 

"  by  his  Majesty's  orders. 
Clement  and  kind  has  he  been  ;  but  how 

you  have  answered  his  kindness. 
Let  your  own   hearts    reply !      To    my 

natural  make  and  my  temper 
Painful  the  task  is  I  do,  which  to  you  I 

know  must  be  grievous. 
Yet   must  I  bow  and   obey,  and   deliver 

the  will  of  our  monarch  ; 
Namely,  that  all  your  lands,  and  dwell- 
ings, and  cattle  of  all  kinds 


I  , 


:i 


HOLDING  Al.liK'l    IN    His   m.anDS,   WITH  MS  SEALS, 
THE  HoVa:.  CCIMMISSION." 


44 


K  V  A  N  O  E  I,  I  N  K 


I   ■ 

I  I 


Forfeited   be    to   the  crown  ;    and   that 
you  yourselves  from  this  province 

Be  transported    to   other    lands.      God 
grant  you  may  dwell  there 

Ever  as  faithful  subjects,  a  happy  and 
peaceable  people ! 

Prisoners  now  I  declare  you  ;  for  such 
is  his  Majesty's  pleasure ! " 

As,  when  the  air  is  serene  in  the  sultr> 
solstice  of  summer, 

Suddenly    gathers    a    storm,     and    the 
deadly  sling  of  the  hailstones 

Beats  down    the  farmer's    corn    in  the 
field  and  shatters  his  windows, 

Hiding  the  sun,  and  strewing  the  ground 
with  thatch  from  the  house-roofs. 

Bellowing    fly  the    herds,  and  seek    to 
break  their  en'^losures  ; 

So  on  the  hearts  of  the  people  descended 
the  words  of  the  speaker. 

Silent  a  moment   they  stood  in  speech- 
less wonder,  and  then  rose 

Louder  and  eve-  louder  h.  wail  of   sor- 
row and  anger, 

And,    by   one     impulse     moved,    they 
madly  rushed  to  the  door-way. 

Vain  was  the  hope  of  escape  ;  and  '••les 
and  fierce  imprecations 


E  V  A  N  c;  E  L  I  N  E 


45 


Rang  through  the  house  of  prayer  ;  and 
high  o'er  the  heads  of  the  others 

Rose,  with  his  arms  uplifted,  the  figure 
of  Basil  the  blacksmith, 

As,  on  a  stormy  sea,  a  spar  is  tossed  by 
the  billows. 

Flushed  was  his  face  and  distorted  with 
passion;  and  wildly  he  shouted, — 

*'  Down  with  the  tyrants  of  England ! 
we  never  have  sworn  them  alle- 
giance ! 

Death  to  these  foreign  soldiers,  who  seize 
on  our  homes  and  our  harvests  !  " 

More  he  fain  would  have  said,  but  the 
merciless  hand  of  a  soldier 

Smote  him  upon  the  mouth,  and  dragged 
him  down  to  the  pavement. 


,   i] 


In  the  midst  of  the  strife  and  tumult 

of  angry  contention 
Lo  !  the  door  of  the  chancel  opened,  and 

Father  Felician 
Entered,      with      serious      mien,     and 

ascended  the  steps  of  the  altar. 
Raising     his     reverend     hand,    with    a 

gesture  he  awed  into  silence 
All   that   clamorous  throng ;     and    thus 

he  spake  to  his  people  ; 


4< 


K  V  A  N  (.  i:  I.  I  N  h 


I 


Deep   were     his     tones  aiul  solemn  ;    in 

accents  measured  ami  mournful 
Spake   he,   as,  after  tlie   tocsin's  alarum, 

distinctly  the  clock  strikes. 
"  What  is  this  that   ye  do,  my  children? 

what  madness  has  seized  you  ? 
Forty  years  of    my   life  have   I  labored 

amon<i^  y(ju,  and  tau}^hl  you. 
Not  in  word   alone,  but    in  ileeil,  to   love 

one  another  ! 
Is  this  the  fruit  of   my  toils,  of   my  vigils 

and  prayers  and  privations  ? 
Have  you  so  soon  forgotten  all  lessons 

of  love  and  forgiveness  ? 
This  is    the    house    of     the    Prince    of 

Peace,  and  would  you  profane  it 
Thus    with    violent     deeds    and   hearts 

overflowing  with  hatred  ? 
Lo !    where    the    crucified   Christ     from 

his  cross  is  gazing  upon  you  ! 
See !     in    those     sorrowful     eyes    what 

meekness  and  holy  compassion  ! 
Hark !    how    those   lips  still    repeat  the 

prayer,  'O  Father,  forgive  them!' 
Let  us  repeat  that    prayer    in  the  hour 

when  the  wicked  assail  us. 
Let  us    repeat    it    now,  and     say,    '  O 

Father,  forgive  them  ! '  " 


K  V  A  N  I.  IC  I.  I  N  K  . 


47 


Few  were  Ins  wnrds  of  rebuke,  but 
deep  in  the  liearts  of  his  people 

Sank  they,  and  sobs  of  contriiiou  suc- 
ceeded thai  passionate  outbreak, 

And  they  repeated  his  prayer,  and  said, 
"O  Father,  forj^ive  them  !  " 


f 


Then  came  the  evening'  service.    The 

tapers  gleamed  from  the  altar. 
Fervent  and   deep  was  the   voice  of  the 

priest,  and  the  people  responded. 
Not    with    their    lips    alone,   but    iheir 

hearts;  and  the  Ave  Maria 
Sang  they,  and  fell   on  their  knees,  and 

their  souls,  with  devotion  translated, 
Rose  on   the  ardor  of  prayer,  like  Elijah 

ascending  to  heaven. 

Meanwhile  had  spread  in  the  village 
the  tidings  of  ill,  and  on  all  sides 

Wandered,  wailing,  from  house  to 
house  the  women  and  children. 

Long  at  her  father's  door  Evangeline 
stood,  with  her  right  hand 

Shielding  her  eyes  from  the  level  rays 
of  the  sun,  that,  descending, 

Lighted  the  village  street  with  mysteri- 
ous splendor,  and  roofed  each 


'^;    r: 


K  \'  A  N  ( ;  »•;  I .  I  N  !•: 


PeasHiu's    cottage   with   jjolden    thatch, 
and  emblazoned  its  windows. 

Lonj^  within  had  been  si)read  the  snow- 
white  cloth  on  the  table  ; 

There  stood  the  wheaten   loaf,  and   the 
honey  fraj,'rant  with  wild  flowers  ; 

There  stood  the  tankard  of  ale,  and  the 
cheese  fresh  brought  from  the  dairy; 

And,  at  the  head  of  the  board,  the  great 
arm-chair  of  the  farmer. 

Thus     did     Evangeline     wait     at     her 
father's  door,  as  the  sunset 

Threw  the  long  shadows  of    trees  o'er 
the  broad  ambrosial  meadows. 

Ah !     on    her    spirit    within    a   deeper 
shadow  had  fallen. 

And  from   the  fields  of   her  soul  a  fra- 
grance celestial,— 

Charity,  meekness,  love,   and   hope,  and 
forgiveness,  and  patience! 

Then,    all-forgetful    of    self,  she   wan- 
dered into  the  village, 

Cheering    with    looks     and  words    the 
disconsolate  hearts  of  the  women. 

As  o'er  the  darkening  fields  with  linger- 
ing steps  they  departed, 

Urged  by  their  household  cares,  and  th** 
weary  feet  of  their  children. 


Ill 


K  V  A  N  (i  K  I.  I  N  K  . 


49 


Down   sank   the  preat  red   sun,   and  in 

trolden,  ^limmt'rinj^  vapors 
Vcilt'd    the   Wiihi    of    his    face,    like   the 

Pro[)het  descendin}if  from  Sinai. 
Sweetly  over  the  vil]a},'e  the  bell  of  the 

.\n{^elus  sounded. 

Meanwhile,  amid  the  ploom,  by  the 
church  Kvanpeline  linj^ercd. 

All  was  silent  within  ;  and  in  vain  at  the 
door  and  the  windows 

Stootl  she.  and  listened  and  looked,  until, 
overcome  by  emotion, 

"(iabriel  !  "  cried  she  aloud  with  tremu- 
lous voice  ;  but  no  answer 

Came  from  the  graves  of  the  dead, 
nor  the  jjloomier  grave  of  the  liv- 
ing. 

Slowly  at  length  she  returned  to  the 
tenantless  house  of  her  father. 

Smouldered  the  tire  on  the  hearth,  on  the 
board  stood  the  supper  untasted, 

Km;)ty  and  drear  was  each  room,  and 
haunted  with  phantoms  of  terror. 

Sadlv  echoed  her  step  on  the  stair  and 
the  floor  of  her  chamber. 

In  the  dead  of  the  night  she  heard  the 
whispering  rain  fall 


.1 


|ii 


I 


50 


}•;  \-  A  x  (,  i:\.\  s  K 


1.? 


Loud  on  the  wiiht-red  leaves  of  the  syc- 
amore-tree by  'h.e  window. 

Keenly  the  lij,ditniii^^  flashed  ;  and  the 
voice  of  the  echoing  thunder 

Told  her  that  God  was  in  heaven,  and 
{governed  the  world  he  created  ! 

Then  she  remembered  the  tale  she  had 
heard  of  the  justice  of  Heaven  ; 

Soothed  was  her  troubled  soul,  and  she 
peacefully  slumbered  till  morning. 

V. 

Four   times  the   sun  had  risen  and  set; 

and  now  on  the  fifth  day 
Cheerily  called  the  cock  to  the  sleeping 

maids  of  the  farm-house. 
Soon  o'er  the  yellow  fields,  in  silent  and 

mournful  procession, 
Came  from  the  neighboring  hamlets  and 

farms  the  Acadian  women, 
Driving  in  ponderous  wains  their  house- 
hold goods  to  the  seashore, 
Pausing  and   looking  back  to  gaze  once 

more  on  their  dwellings, 
Ere  they  were  shut  from  sight  by   the 

winding  road  and  the  woodland. 
Close  at  their  sides  their  children  ran, 

and  urged  on  the  oxen, 


!•:  \-  A  N  c;  K  L  1  N  K  . 


51 


While  in  their  little  hands  they  clasped 
some  fragments  of  playthings. 

Thus  to  the  Gaspereau's  mouth  they 
hurried  ;  and  there  on  the  sea-beach 

Piled  in  confusion  lay  the  household 
goods  of  the  peasants. 

All  day  long  between  the  shore  and  the 
sliips  did  the  beats  ply  ; 

All  day  long  the  wains  cam.e  laboring 
down  from  the  village. 

Late  in  the  afternoon,  when  the  sun  was 
near  to  his  setting, 

Echoing  far  o'er  the  fields  came  the  roll 
of  drums  from  the  church-yard. 

Thither  the  women  and  children 
thronged.  On  a  sudden  the  church- 
doors 

Opened,  and  forth  came  the  guard,  and 
marching  in  gloomy  procession 

Followed  the  long-imprisoned,  but  pa- 
tient, Acadian  farmers. 

Even  as  pilgrims,  who  journey  afar  from 
their  homes  and  their  country, 

Sing  as  they  go,  and  in  singing  forget 
they  are  weary  and  wayworn, 

So  with  songs  on  their  lips  the  Acadian 
peasants  descended 


9 


'  1  .  1! 

r 


-:,    ; 


52 


E  V  A  N  (i  E  L  1  N  E  . 


Down  from  the  church  to  the  shore,  amid 
their  wives  and  their  daughters. 

Foremost  the  young  men  came ;  and, 
raising  together  their  voices, 

Sang  they  with  tremulous  hps  a  chant  of 
the  Catholic  Missions  : — 

**  Sacred  heart  of  tlie  Saviour  !  O  inex- 
haustible fountain  ! 

Fill  our  hearts  this  day  with  strength 
and  submission  and  patience  !  " 

Then  the  old  men,  as  they  marched,  and 
the  women  that  stood  by  the  way- 
side 

Joined  in  the  sacred  psalm,  and  the  birds 
in  the  sunshine  above  them 

Mingled  their  notes  therewith,  like 
voices  of  spirits  departed. 

Half-way  down  to  the  shore  Evange- 
line waited  in  silence, 

Not  overcome  with  grief,  but  strong  ia 
the  hour  of  affliction,— 

Calmly  and  sadly  waited^  until  the  pro- 
cession approached  her, 

And  she  beheld  the  face  of  Gabriel  pale 
with  emotion. 

Tears  then  filled  her  eyes,  and,  eagerly 
running  to  meet  him, 


\-] 


it 


||     I 


Iff' 


**  JOINED  IN  THE  SACRED  PSALM.*' 


1 


E  V  A  N  G  !•:  I.  I  \  K 


Clasped    she    his    hands,   and     laid    her 
liead    on    his    shoulder,    and     whis- 
pered,— 
"(i.d)riel!  be   of  ^ood   cheer!  for  if  we 
Icire  one  ;\iiniher, 
NoiliinLT.    in  truth,  can 
h.irm  us,  whatever 
mischances       may 
happen  ? " 
Smiling  she  spake  these 
words;    then    sud- 
denly   paused,    for 
her  father 
Saw  she  slowly  advanc- 
ing.      Alas !     how 
chanj^ed    was     his 
aspect ! 
Gone    was    the     glow 
from  his  cheek,  and 
the    fire    from    his  "she  claspkii  his 


eye,  and  his   foot-       ^;!';^"'^'„'V''!Mv'^', 
step 


I5KACED  HIM. 


Heavier  seemed  with  the  weight  of  the 

weary  heart  in  his  bosom. 
But  with  a  smile  and  a  sigh,  she  clasped 

his  neck  and  embraced  him, 
Speaking  words  of    endearment  where 

words  of  comfort  availed  not. 


K  \'  A  N  (j  i:  I.  1  N  K  . 


55 


Thus   to  the  Ga-ipfreau's  mouth   moved 
on  tluil  mournful  i)r( .'cession. 


Tlierc    disorder    prevnilcd,    and     the 

tumult  and  stir  of  embarki"p;. 
Busily  plied  the  freighted  boats  ;  and  in 

■  the  confusion 
Wives  were  torn   from   their  husbands, 

and     mothers,   too    late,    saw    their 

children 
Left  on  the  land,  extending  their  arms, 

with  wildest  entreaties. 
So  unto  separate  ships  were  Basil  and 

Gabriel  earned, 
While   in  despair  on  the  shore  Evange- 

hne  stood  with  her  father. 
Half  the  task  was  not  done  when  the  sun 

went  down,  and  the  twilight 
Deepened  and    darkened  around  ;  and  in 

haste  the  refluent  ocean 
Fled   away  from   the   shore,  and  left  the 

line  of  the  sand-beach 
Covered  with  waifs  of  the  tide,  with  kelp 

and  the  slippery  seaweed. 
Farther  back  in  the  midst  of  the  house- 
hold goods  and  the  wagons, 
Like  to  a  gypsy  camp,  or  a  leaguer  afte< 

a  battle. 


III 


'     i 


hi 


Si 

i 


If  f 


5^> 


E  V  A  N  (;  E  L  1  : .  K  . 


All  escape  cut  off  by  the  sea,  and  the 
sentinels  near  them, 

Lay  encamped  for  the  night  the  house- 
less Acadian  farmers. 

Back  to  its  nethermost  caves  retreated 
the  bellowing'  ocean, 

Dragging  adown  the  beach  the  rattlingf 
pebbles,  and  leaving 

Inland  and  far  up  the  shore  the  stranded 
boats  of  the  sailors. 

Then,  as  the  night  descended,  the  herds 
returned  from  their  pastures  •, 

Sweet  was  '.he  moist  still  air  with  the 
odor  of  milk  from  their  udders  , 

Lowing  they  waited,  and  long,  at  the 
well-known  bars  of  the  farm-yard. — 

Waited  and  looked  in  vain  for  the  voice 
and  the  hand  of  the  milkmaid. 

Silence  reigned  in  the  streets  ;  from  the 
church  •^o  Angelus  sounded, 

Rose  no  smoke  from  the  roofs,  and 
gleamed  no  lights  from  the  win- 
dows. 

But  on  the  shores  meanwhile  Lhe  even- 
ing fires  had  been  kindled, 
Built  of  the   drift-wood  thrown  on  the 
sands  from  wrecks  in  the  tempest. 


E  \'  A  N  C,  KLIN  R 


57 


Round  thorn  shapes  o{  ^Mooni  ami  sorrow- 
ful (aces  were  j.''atliert'd. 

Voices  of  \vo!;uMi  were  heard,  and  of  men 
and  ihe  cr\  in.Lf  of  children. 

Onward  from   tire  to  tire,  as  from  hearih 
to  hearth  in  his  pr.rish. 

Wandered  the   faithful    priest,  consoling 
and  blessinfj  and  cheerinp. 

Like  unto  shipwrecked   Pau'   on  Meiita  s 
desolate  sea-shore. 


.^ 


SILENCE  REIGNED  IN  THE  STREETS. 

Thus  he  approached  the  place  vvher_ 
Evangeline  sat  with  her  father, 

And  in  the  flickermg  light  beheld  the 
face  ot  tlie  old  man, 

Hag,t;ard  and  hollow  and  wan,  and  with- 
out either  thought  or  emoticn. 


t 


/ 


/ 


58 


K  \-  A  N  (i  K  1.  1  N  K 


E'en  as   the  face  of  a   clock    from  which 

the  hands  have  been  taken. 
Vainly   Evanj^eline    strove    with    words 

and  caresses  to  cheer  him, 
Vainly  (jf'fered  him   food  ;  yet  he  moved 

not,  he  looked  not,  he  spake  not, 
But,  with  a  vacant  staVe.  ever  gazed  at 

the  flickering  firelight, 
''  Bcncdicitc  !  "  murmured  the  priest,  in 

tones  of  compassion. 
More  he   fain  would  have  said,  but  his 

heart  was  full,  and  his  accents 
Faltereii  and  paused  on   his  lips,  as  the. 

feet  of  a  child  on  a  threshold. 
Hushed  by  the  scene  he  beholds,  and  the 

awful  presence  of  sorrow. 
Silently,  therefore,  he   laid   his  hand  on 

the  h-ead  of  the  maiden, 
Raising  his  eyes  full  of  tears,  to  the  silent 

stars  that  above  them 
Moved  on   their    way,   unperturbed   by 

the    wrongs    and    sorrows    of    mor- 
tals. 
Then  sat  he  down  at  her  side,  and  they 

wept  together  in  silence. 

Suddenly  rose  from  the  south   a  light, 
as  in  autumn  the  blood-red 


E  V  A  N  G  E  L  I  N  K  . 


59 


Moon  climbs  the  crystal  walls  of  heaven, 

and  o'er  the  horizon 
Titan-like  stretches  its    hundred   hands 

upon  mountain  and  meadow, 
Seizinf^  the  rocks    and   the   rivers,   and 

piling  huge  shadows  toj^a'ther. 
Broader  and   ever  broader  it  j^deamed  on 

the  roofs  of  the  villajje, 
Gleamed  on  the  sky  and  the  sea,  and  the 

ships  that  lay  in  the  roadstead. 
Columns  of  shining  smoke    uprose,  and 

flashes  of  flame  were 
Thrust  through    their    folds    and    with- 
drawn, like  the  quivering  hands  of  a 

martyr. 
Then  as  the  wind   seized   the  gleeds  and 

the  burning  thatch,  and,  uplifting. 
Whirled  them  aloft  through  the  air,  at 

once  from  a  hundred  house-tops 
Started  the  sheeted  smoke  with  flashes  of 

flame  intermingled. 

These  things  beheld  in  dismay  the 
crowd  on  the  shore  and  on  shipboard. 

Speechless  at  first  they  stood,  then  cried 
aloud  in  their  anguish, 

*'We  shall  behold  no  more  our  homes  in 
the  village  of  Grand-Pre  !  " 


hi?  * 


!-,    J 


\ 


60 


KVAN(iKLINK 


Loud  on  a  sudden  the  cocks  began  to 
:row  in  the  farm-yards, 

Thinking  the  day  had  dawned  ;  and  anon 
the  lowing  of  cattle 

Came  on  the  evening  breeze,  by  the  bark- 
ing of  dogs  interrupted. 

Then  rose  a'  sound  of  dread,  such  as 
startles  the  sleeping  encampments 

Far  in  the  western  prairies  or  forests  that 
skirt  the  Nebraska, 

When  the  wild  horses  affrighted  sweep 
by  with  the  speed  of  the  whirl- 
wind, 

Or  the  loud  bellowing  herds  of  buffaloes 
rush  to  the  river. 

Such  was  the  sound  that  arose  on  the 
night,  as  the  herds  and  the  horses 

Broke  through  their  folds  and  fences, 
and  madly  rushed  o'er  the  meadows. 

Overwhelmed  with  the  sight,  yet 
speechless,  the  priest  and  the  maiden 

Gazed  on  the  scene  of  terror  that  red- 
dened and  widened  before  them  ; 

And  as  they  turned  at  length  to  speak  to 
their  silent  companion 

Lo  \  from  his  seat  he  had  fallen,  and 
stretched  abroad  on  the  sea-shore 


K  \-  A  N  (1  K  I,  I  N  I-:, 


6i 


Motionless  lay  his  form,  from  which  ihe 

soul  had  departed. 
Slowly   the    priest    uplifted    the  lifeles? 

head,  and  the  maiden 
Knelt  at   her   father's  side,  and  wailed 

aloud  in  her  terror. 
Then  in  a  swoon  she  sank,  and  lay  with 

her  head  on  his  bosom. 
Through  the  long  nijfht  she  lay  in  deep, 

oblivious  slumber  ; 
And  when  she  woke  from  the  trance,  she 

beheld  a  multitude  near  her. 
Faces  of  friends  she  beheld,  that  were 

mournfully  gazing  upon  her. 
Pallid,   with  tearful  eyes,  and    looks  of 

saddest  compassion. 
Still    the  blaze  of    the   burning  village 

illumined  the  landscape. 
Reddened  the  sky  overhead,  and  gleamed 

on  the  faces  around  her, 
And   like  the  day  of  doom  it  seemed  to 

her  wavering  senses. 
Then  a  familiar  voice  she  heard,  as  it 

said  to  the  people,  - 
"  Let   us    bury    him    here    by    the   sea. 

When  a  happier  season 
Brings  us  again   to  our  homes  from  the 

unknown  land  of  our  exile. 


d 


i 


69 


K  V  A  N  ti  E  I.  I  N  K 


Then   slwtU    his  sacred    diisi   be   piously 

laid  in  the  churchyard." 
Such    were    the    words    of     the    pncsi. 

And  there  in  haste  by  the  sea-side, 
Haviii},^  tlic  j^Hare  of  the  burnHi},^   villatje 

for  funeral  torches, 
But  without   bell   or   book,  they  buried 

the  farmer  of  (irand-1're. 
And  as  the  voice  of  the  priest  repeated 

the  service  of  sorrow, 
Lol    with  a  mournful    sound,   like   the 

voice  of  a  vast  con^aegfation. 
Solemnly  answered  the  sea,  and  mint,'lcd 

its  roar  with  the  dirges. 
*Twas  the  returning  tide,  that  afar  from 

the  waste  of  the  ocean, 
With   the  first  dawn   of  the   day,  came 

heaving  and  hurrying  landward. 
Then  recommenced   once  more  the  stir 

and  noise  of  embarking ; 
And  with  the  ebb  of  that  tide  the  ships 

sailed  out  of  the  harbor, 
Leaving  behind  them   the   dead   on  the 

shore,  and  the  village  in  ruins. 


^0 


I 


PART  THE  SECOND. 

I. 

Manv  a  weary  year  had  passed  since  the 

burnin<;  of  Grand-Pre, 
When  on   the  fallinjj  tide  the   freif^ditcd 

vessels  departed, 
Rearni}^  a  nation,  with  all  its  household 

fjods,  into  exile, 
Exile  without  an   end,  and   without   an 

example  in  story. 
Far    asunder,     on    separate    coasts,   the 

Acadians  landed  ; 
Scattered  were  they,  like  flakes  of   snow, 

when  the  wind  from  the  northeast 
Strikes    aslant    throufjh    the     foj^s    that 

darken  the  Banks  of  Newfoundland. 


5     ■ 


Ml 


«  i.  I 


r? 


64 


EVANGELINE. 


Friendless,     h(jmeless,     hopeless,     they 

wandered  from  city  to  city. 
From  the  cold  lakes  of  the  North  to  sul- 
try Southern  savannas, — 
From  the  bleak  shores  of  the  sea  to  the 

lands  where  the  Father  of  Waters 
Seizes  the  hills  in  his  hands,  and   drags 

them  down  to  the  ocean, 
Deep  in  their  sands  to  bury  the  scattered 

bones  of  the  mammoth. 
Friends  they  sought  and   homes  ;    and 

many,  despairing,  heart-broken. 
Asked  of  the  earth  but  a  grave,  and    no 

longer  a  friend  nor  a  fireside. 
Written  their  history  stands  on  tablets  of 

stone  in  the  churchyards. 
Long  among  them   was  seen  a  maiden 

who  waited  and  wandered. 
Lowly  and  meek  in  spirit,  and  patiently 

suffering  all  things. 
Fair  was    she    and    young ;    but,    alas  i 

before  her  extended. 
Dreary  and  vast  and  silent,  the  desert  of 

life,  with  its  pathway 
Marked  by  the  graves  of  thos'»  who  had 

sorrowed  and  suffered  before  her. 
Passions  long  extinguished,   and    hopes 

long  dead  and  abandoned. 


EVANGELINE. 


65 


As  the  emigi  .nt's  way  o'er  the  Western 

desert  is  inarked  by 
Camp-fires    long    consumed,  and   bones 

that  bleach  in  the  sunshine. 
Something  there  was  in  her  Hfe  incom- 
plete, imperfect,  unfinished  ; 
As  if  a  morning  of  June,   with  all   its 

music  and  sunshine, 
Suddenly  paused  in  the  sky,  and,  fading, 

slowly  descended 
Into  the  east  again,  from  whence  it  late 

had  arisen. 
Sometimes  she  lingered    in   towns,  till, 

urged  by  the  fever  within  her. 
Urged  by  a  restless  longing,  the  hunger 

and  thirst  of  the  spirit, 
She  would  commence  again  her  endless 

search  and  endeavor ; 
Sometimes  in  church-yards  strayed,  and 

gazed  on  the  crosses  and  tombstones. 
Sat  by  some  nameless  grave,  and  thought 

that  perhaps  in  its  bosom 
He  was  already  at  rest,  and  she  longed 

to  slumber  beside  him. 
Sometimes  a  rumor,  a  hearsay,  an  inartic- 
ulate whisper, 
Came  with  its  airy  hand   to  point  and 

beckon  her  forward. 


^  m 


I  I 


P: 


f  r 


^  ,-;»*»'«.., 
»•"* 


I] 


"  SOMETIMES  IN  CHl'RCHYARDS  STRAYED." 


EVA  N  C.  K  L  I  N  E  , 


67 


Sometimes  she  spake    with    those    who 

had  seen  her  beh)ved  and  known  him, 
But   it  was  long  ago,   in    some    far-off 

place  or  forgotten. 
'  Gabriel  Lajeunesse  !  "    said  they  ;  "  O 

yes  !  we  have  seen  him. 
He  was  with  Basil  the  blac'rsmith,  and 

both  have  gone  to  the  prairies  ; 
Coiireiirs-des-Bois  are  they,  and  famous 

hunters  and  trappers." 
"  Gabriel  Lajeunesse  !  "  said  others  ;  '*  O 

yes  !  we  have  seen  him. 
He   is  a  Voyageur  in    the   lowlands    of 

Louisiana." 
Then    would    they    say,    "  Dear    child  ! 

why  dream  and  wait  for  him  longer  ? 
Are  there  not  other  youths  as  fair   as 

Gabriel  ?  others 
Who  have  hearts  as  tender  and  true,  and 

spirits  as  loyal  ? 
Here  is  Baptiste    Leblanc,  the  notary's 

son,  who  has  loved  thee 
Many  a  tedious  year  ;    come,  give  him 

thy  hand  and  be  happy  ! 
Thou  art  too  fair  to  be  left  to  braid  St. 

Catherine's  tresses." 
Then  would  Evangeline  answer,  serenely 

but  sadly,  "  I  cannot  ! 


n 


f  li 


t 


f  r 


68 


EVANGELINE. 


Whither  my  heart  has  gone,  there  follows 
my  hand,  and  not  elsewhere. 

For  when  the  heart  goes  before,  like  a 
lamp,  and  illumines  the  pathway, 

Many  things  are  made  clear,  that  else  lie 
hidden  in  darkness." 

And  thereupon  the  priest,  her  friend  and 
father-con  Tessor, 

Said,  wi*.h  a  smile,  "O  daughter!    thy 
God  thus  speaketh  within  thee ! 

Talk  not  of  wasted   affection,  affection 
never  was  wasted  ; 

If  it  enrich  not  the  heart  of  another,  its 
waters,  returning 

Back  to  their  springs,  like  the  rain,  shall 
till  them  full  of  refreshment ; 

That  which    the   fountain    sends    forth 
returns  again  to  the  fountain. 

Patience  ;    accomplish    thy    labor ;    ac- 
complish thy  work  of  affection  ! 

Sorrow    and    silence    are    strong,    and 
patient  endurance  is  godlike. 

Therefore  accomplish  thy  labor  of  love, 
till  the  heart  is  made  godlike. 

Purified,  strengthened,    perfected,    and 
rendered  more  worthy  of  heaven  !  " 

Cheered  by  the  good  man's  words,  Evan- 
geline labored  and  waited. 


E  V  A  N  C.  R  L  INK. 


69 


Still  in  her   heart  she   heard   the  funeral 

dirge  of  the  ocean, 
But  with  its  sound  there  was  minj,ded  a 

voice  that  whispered,  "  Despair  not ! " 
Thus  did  that  poor  soul  wander  in  want 

and  cheerless  discomfort, 
Bleeding,    barefooted,    over  the    shards 

and  thorns  of  existence. 
Let  me  essay,  O  Muse  !   to  follow  the 

wanderer's  footsteps  ; — 
Not  through  each    devious    path,  each 

changeful  year  of  existence  ; 
But  as  a  traveller  follows  a  streamlet's 

course  through  the  valley  : 
Far  from  its  margin  at  times,  and  seeing 

the  gleam  of  its  water 
Here  and  there,  in  some  open  space,    nd 

at  intervals  only  ; 
Then  drawing  nearer  its  banks,  through 

sylvan  glooms  that  conceal  it. 
Though  he  behold  it  not,  he  can  hear  its 

continuous  murmur  ; 
Happy,    at  length,   if  he  find  the    spot 

where  it  reaches  an  outlet. 


I 

I 


f'  I 

'■'    I 


IT. 

It  was  the  month    of  May.    Far  down 
the  Beautiful  River, 


li 


TO 


\'.  VAN  G  K  I.  I  N  H  . 


Past  the  Oliio  shore  and  past  the  mouth 

of  the  Wabash, 
Into  the  golden  stream  of  the  broad  and 

swift  Mississippi, 
Floated  a  cumbrous  boat,  that  was  rowed 

by  Acadian  boatmen. 
It  was  a  band  of  exiles:  a  raft,  as  it  were, 

from  the  shipwrecked 
Nation,   scattered   alon<j   the  coast,  now 

floating  together, 
Bound  by  the  bonds  of  a  common  belief 

and  a  common  misfortune  ; 
Men    and    women   and     children,   who, 

guided  by  hope  or  by  hearsay, 
Sought    for     their    kith   and    their  kin 

among  the  few-acred  farmers 
On  the  Acadian  coast,  and  the   prairies 

of  fair  Opelousas. 
With   them    Evangeline   wen'.,  and   her 

guide,  the  Father  Felician. 
Onward   o'er  sunken    sands,  through  a 

wilderness  sombre  with  fc rests, 
Day    after  day  they  glided  adown  the 

turbulent  river; 
Night  after  night,  by  their  blazing  fires, 

encamped  on  its  borders. 
Isow  through    rushing    chur.es,    among 

green  islands,  where  plume-like 


E  V  A  N  Ci  K  1.  I  N  K 


7» 


Col  ton-trees      nodded     their      shadowy 
crests,  they  swept  witli  the  current, 

Then  emerged  into  broad  lagoons,  where 
sih  ery  sand-bars 

Lay   in  the  stream,  and  along  the  wim- 
pling  waves  of  their  margin, 

Shining  with  snow-white  plumes,  large 
flocks  of  pelicans  waded. 

Level  the  landscape  grew,  and  along  the 
shores  of  the  river, 

Shaded   by  china-trees,  in   the  midst  of 
luxuriant  gardens, 

Stood  the  houses  of  planters,  with  negro- 
cabins  and  dove-cots. 

They  were  approaching  the  region  where 
reigns  perpietual  summer, 

Where   through  the   Golden  Coa~t,   and 
groves  of  orange  and  citron, 

Sweeps   with    majestic  curve  the    river 
away  to  the  eastward. 

They,  too,  swerved  from  their  course;  and , 
entering  the  Bayou  of  Plaquemine, 

Soon   were  lost  in  a  maze   of  sluggish 
and  devious  waters. 

Which,  like  a  network  of  steel,  extended 
in  every  direction. 

Over  their  heads  the  towering  and  tene- 
brous boughs  of  the  cypress 


^ 


In 


72 


i<:  V  A  N  G  E  i      N  !■: , 


Met  in  a  dusky  arch,  and  trailinj:^  mosses 

in  mid-air 
Waved   like  banners  that  hang  on   the 

walls  of  ancient  cathedrals. 
Deathlike  the    silence  seemed,  and   un- 
broken, save  by  the  herons 
Home  to  their  roosts  in   the  ccdar-irees 

returninjj  at  sunset, 
Or  by  the  owl,  as  he  greeted  the  moon 

with  demoniac  laughter. 
Lovely  the  moonlight  was  as  it  glanced 

and  gleamed  on  the  water, 
Gleamed  on  the  columns  of  cypress  and 

cedar  sustaining  the  arches, 
Down    through   whose   broken  vaults  it 

fell  as  through  chinks  in  a  ruin. 
Dreamlike,  and  indistinct,  and   strange 

were  all  things  around  them  ; 
And  o'er  their  spirits  there  came  a  feeling 

of  wonder  and  sadness, — 
Stran^^e  forebodings  of  ill,  unseen   and 

that  cannot  be  compassed. 
As,  at  the  tramp  of  a  horse's  hoof  on  the 

turf  of  the  prairies, 
Far  in  advance  are  closed  the  leaves  of 

the  shrinking  mimosa, 
So,  at  the  hoof-beats  of  fate,  with  sad 

forebodings  of  evil, 


EVAN  (;  K  I,  I  N  K 


7:^ 


i 


Shrinks    and    closes   the    heart,    ere   the 

stroke  of  doom  has  attained  it. 
Hut  F2vanpehne's  heart  was  sustained  by 

a  vision,  that  faintly 
Floated  before   her  eyes,  and  beckoned 

her  on  throujj^h  the  moonlifjht. 
It   was     the    thouji^ht  of  her   brain   that 

assumed  the  shape  of  a  phantom. 
Through     those      shadowy    aisles     had 

Gabriel  wandered  before  her, 
And  every  stroke  of  the  oar  now  brought 

him  nearer  and  nearer. 


'I 

III 


Then  in  his  place,  at  the  prow  of  the 
boat,  rose  one  of  the  oarsmen, 

And,  as  a  signal  sound,  if  others  like 
them  perad venture 

Sailed  on  those  gloomy  and  midnight 
streams,  blew  a  blast  on  his  bu- 
gle. 

Wild  through  the  dark  colonnades  and 
corridors  leafy  the  blast  rang. 

Breaking  the  seal  of  silence,  and  giving 
tongues  to  the  forest 

Soundless  above  them  the  banners  of 
moss  just  stirred  to  the  music. 

Multitudinous  echoes  awoke  and  died  in 
the  distance, 


■II 


1: 


'f  f 


74 


K  V  A  N  ti  K  I.  I  N  K  . 


Over  the  watery  floor,  and  beneath  the 

reverberant  branches ; 
Rut  not  a  voice  replied  ;  no  answer  came 

from  the  darkness; 
And,  when  the  echoes  had  ceased,  like  a 

sense  of  pain  was  the  silence. 
Then  Evangeline  slept. ;  but  the  boatmen 

rowed  through  the  midnight, 
Silent  at    times,  then  singing    familiar 

Canadian  boat-songs. 


t       ^        \  *^-j<  *'**i  \\' 


WATEK-LILIES  IN  MVKIADS. 


Such  as  they  sang  of  old  on  their  own 

Acadian  rivers, 
And  through  the  night  were  heard  the 

mysterious  sounds  of  the  desert. 
Far  off,  indistinct,  as  of  wave  or  wind  in 

the  forest. 


!■:  V  A  N  (i  K  I.  1  N  K  . 


73 


Mixed  wiih  the  whoo;)  ot  the  ctaiic  and 
the  roar  ot'  the  ^^rim  alligator. 


Thus  ere  another  noon  they  enuTiied 
I'roin  iho^c  shades  J  and  bctore 
them 

Lay,  ill  the  golden  sun.  the    lakes  of  the 
Atehafalaya. 

Water-lilies   in    myriads    rocked    »n    the 
slijrht  undulations 

Made    by    the    passinj^    oars,    and,    re- 
splendent in  beauty,  the  loius 

Lifted  her  {^olden  crown  above  the  heads 
of  the  boatmen. 

Faint    was  the  air    with    the    odorous 
breath  of  mai,n-iolia  blossoms, 

And  with  the  heat  of   noon  ;    and  num- 
berless sylvan  islands, 

Fragrant   and    thickly  embowered    with 
blossoming  hedges  of  roses, 

Near  to  whose  shores  they  glided  along, 
invited  to  slumber. 

Soon  by  the  fairest  of  these  their  weary 
oars  were  suspended. 

Under  the  boughs  of  VVachita  willows, 
that  grew  by  the  margin, 

Safely  their  boat  was  moored  ;  and  scat- 
tered about  on  the  green-sward, 


I 


u 


ii   I 


76 


li  \'  A  N  CJ  li  LI  N  E  . 


Tired  witli  their  midiiij^'lit  toil,  the  weary 

travellers  slumbered. 
Over   them   vast  and   high  extended  the 

cope  of  a  cedar. 
Svvinj^inj^  from  its  ^reat  arms,  the  trum- 

pet-tlower  and  the  ^rape-vine 
Hunj^  their  ladder  of  ropes  aloft  like  the 

ladder  of  Jacob, 
On   whose    pendulous  stairs  the  an^'els 

ascending,  descending, 
Were    the    swift    humming-birds,    that 

flitted  from  blossom  to  blossom. 
Such  was  the  vision    Evangeline  saw  as 

she  slumbered  beneath  it. 
Filled  was  her  heart  with  love,  and  the 

dawn  of  an  opening  heaven 
Lighted  her  soul  in  sleep  with  the  glory 

of  regions  celestial. 


Nearer,   and   ever    nearer,  among  the 

numberless  islands. 
Darted   a    light,   swift    boat,   that    sped 

away  o'er  the  water, 
Urged  or.  its  course  by  the  sinewy  arms 

of  hunters  and  trappers. 
Northward   its  prow  was  turned,  to  the 

land  of  the  bison  and  beaver. 


K  V  A  N  c;  E  L  I  N  K 


n 


At    the  helm   sat  a  youth,  with  counte- 
nance thoughtful  and  care-worn. 
Dark  and  ne^jlected  locks  overshadowed 

his  brow,  and  a  satlness 
Somewhat  beyond  his  years  on  his  face 

was  legibly  written. 
Gabriel  was  it,  who,  weary  with  waiting, 

unliappy  and  restless. 
Sought  in   the  Western  wilds  oblivion  of 

self  and  of  sorrow. 
Swiftly   they  glided   along,  close   under 

the  lee  of  the  island. 
But  by  the  opposite  bank,  and  behind  a 

screen  of  palmettos, 
So  that  they  saw  not  the  boat,  where  it 

lay  concealed  in  the  willows, 
And  undisturbed   by  the  dash   of    their 

oars,  and  unseen,  were    he  sleepers. 
Angel  of  God  was  there  none  to  awaken 

the  slumbering  maiden. 
Swiftly  they  glided  away,  like  the  shade 

of  a  cloud  on  the  prairie. 
After  the    sound  of    their  oars  on  the 

tholes  had  died  in  the  distance, 
As    from  a  magic    trance    the    sleepers 

awoke,  and  the  maiden 
Said  with  a  sigh   to  the  friendly  priest, 

"  O  Father  Felician  ! 


I 

i 


73 


K  V  A  N  G  1<:  L  I  X  K 


It! 


Somethiiifj  says  iti  my  heart  tliat  near  me 

Gabriel  wanders. 
Is  it  a  foolisli   dream,  an  idle  and  vague 

superstition  ? 
Or  has  an  anj^el    passed,   and    revealed 

tlie  truth  to  my  spirit  ?  " 
Then,  with  a  blush,  she  added,   "  Alas 

for  my  credulous  fancy  ! 
Unto  ears  like  thine  such  words  as  these 

have  no  meaning." 
Bui  made  anivver  the  revcren  1  man,  and 

he  smilcKi  as  he  answered, — 
"  Daugliter,  tliy  words  are  not  idle  ;  nor 

are  they  to  me  without  meaning. 
Feeling  is  deep  and  still ;  and  the  word 

that  floats  on  the  surface 
Is    as  the   tossing    buoy,   that    betrays 

where  the  anchor  is  hidden. 
Therefore    trust    to    thy   heart,   and   to 

what  the  world  calls  illusions. 
Gabriel  truly  is  near  thee  ;    for  not  far 

away  to  the  southward. 
On     the  banks   of    the    Teche,  are    the 

towns  of  St.  Maur  and  St.  Martin. 
There  the  long-wandering  bride  shall  be 

given  again  to  her  bridegroom. 
There  the  long-absent  pastor  regain  his 

flock  and  his  sheep-fold. 


H  V  AN  ( ;  !•:  L  I  N  K 


' 


79 


Beautiful   is  tlie  land,  with   its  prairies 

and  forests  of  fruit-trees  ; 
Under  the   feet  a  garden  of  flowers,  and 

the  bluest  of  heavens 
Bending  above,  and   resting  its  dome  on 

the  walls  of  the  forest. 
They  who  dwell  there  have  named  it  the 

"  Eden  of  Louisiana.' 


And  with  these  words  of  cheer  they 
arose  and  continued  their  jour- 
ney. 

Softly  the  evening  came.  The  sun  from 
the  western  horizon 

Like  a  magician  extended  his  golden 
wand  o'er  the  landscape  ; 

Twinkling  vapors  arose  ;  and  sky  and 
water  and  forest 

Seemed  all  on  tire  at  the  touch,  and 
melted  and  mingled  together. 

Hanging  between  two  skies,  a  cloud  with 
edges  of  silver, 

Flouted  the  boat,  with  its  dripping  oars, 
on  the  motionless  water. 

Filled  was  Evangeline's  heart  with  inex- 
pressible sweetness. 

Touched  by  the  magic  spell,  the  sacred 
fountains  of  feeling 


It  ^ 


If 


^ 


I   ,' 


8o 


EVANGELINE. 


Glowed  with  tlie  lig^lit  of  love,  as  the 
skies  and  waters  around  her. 

Then  from  a  neighboring  thicket  the 
mocking-bird,  wildest  of  singers, 

Swinging  aloft  on  a  willow  spray  that 
hung  o'er  the  water, 

Shook  from  his  little  throat  such  floods 
of  delirious  music, 

That  the  whole  air  and  the  woods  and 
the  waves  seemed  silent  to  listen. 

Plaintive  at  first  were  the  tones  and  sad  ; 
then  soaring  to  madness 

Seemed  they  to  follow  or  guide  the  revel 
of  frenzied  Bacchantes. 

Single  notes  were  then  heard,  in  sorrow- 
ful, low  lamentation  ; 

Till,  having  gathered  them  all,  he  flung 
them  abroad  in  derision. 

As  when,  after  a  storm,  a  gust  of  wind 
through  the  tree-tops 

Shakes  down  the  rattling  rain  in  a  crys- 
tal shower  on  the  branches. 

With  such  a  prelude  as  this,  and  hearts 
that  throbbed  with  emotion, 

Slowly  they  entered  the  Teche,  where  it 
flows  through  the  green  Opelousas, 

And  through  the  amber  air,  above  the 
crest  of  the  woodland, 


I 


EVA  N  G  E  I-  I  N  E  , 


8l 


Saw  the  column  of  smoke  that  arose  from 

a  neighboring  dwelling  ; — 
Sounds  of  a  horn   they   heard,  and   the 

distant  lowing  of  cattle. 


i 


III. 

Near  to  the  bank  of  the  river,  o'ershad- 

owed  by  oaks,  from  whose  branches 
Garlands  of  Spanish  moss  and  of  mystic 

mistletoe  flaunted, 
Such  as  the  Druids  cut  down  with  golden 

hatchets  at  Yule-tide, 
Stood,  secluded    and    still,  the  house  of 

the  herdsman.     A  garden 
Girded   it  round   about   with  a  belt  of 

luxuriant  blossoms, 
Filling  the    air    with    fragrance.      The 

house  itself  was  of  timbers 
Hewn   from   the  cypress-tree,  and   care- 
fully fitted  together. 
Large    and    low  was    the    roof ;  and  on 

slender  columns  supported, 
Rose-wreathed,  vine-encircled,  a  broad, 

and  spacious  veranda, 
Haunt  of  the  humming-bird  and  the  bee, 

extended  around  it. 
At   each    end    of    the   house,  amid  the 

flowers  of  the  garden. 


i  ^:  I 


It 


82 


K  \   .\  S  C,  K  I.  I  N  K 


Stationed   the  dove-cots  were,  as  love's 

j)er|)eiual  symbol, 
Scenes  cjf   endless  wooing,  and    endless 

contentions  of  rivals. 
Silence   reigned   o'er    the   place.        The 

line  of  shadow  and  sunshine 
Ran  near  the  tops  of   the  trees  ;  but  the 

house  itself  was  in  shadow. 
And     from   its  chimney-top,    ascending 

and  slowly  expanding 
Into  the  evening  air,  a  thin  blue  column 

of  smoke  rose. 
In  the  rear  of  the  house,  from  the  gar- 
den gate,  ran  a  pathway 
Through  the  great  groves  of  oak  to  tht; 

skirts  of  the  limitless  prairie. 
Into  whose  sea  of  flowers  the  sun  was 

slowly  descending, 
Full  in  his  track  of  light,  like  ships  with 

shadowy  canvas 
Hanging    loose   from    their  spars    in   a 

motionless  calm  in  the  tropics. 
Stood  a  cluster  of  trees,   with   tangled 

cordage  of  grapevines. 


Tust  Avhere    the    woodlands    met    the 
flowery  surf  of  the  prairie, 


n 


a  v 


N  C.  K  1.  1  N  E 


S3 


Mounted    upon    liis   horse,  with    Spanish 

saddle  and  stirrups, 
Sat  a  herdsman,  arrayed    in    gaiters  and 

doublet  of  deerskin. 
Broad  and  brown  was  the  face  that  from 

under  the  Spanish  sombrero 
Gazed   on   the    peaceful   scene,  with  the 

lordly  look  of  its  master. 
Round  about  him  were  numberless  herds 

of  kine,  that  were  grazing 
Quietly  in  the  meadows,  and    breathing 

the  vapory  freshness 
That  uprose  from  the  river,  and  spread 

Itself  over  the  landscape, 
Slowly  lifting  the  horn  that  hung  at  his 

side,  and  expanding 
Fully  his  broad,  deep  chest,  he  blew  a 

blast,  that  resounded 
Wildly  and  sweet   and   far,  through  the 

still  damp  air  of  the  evening. 
Suddenly    out    of    the     grass    the   long 

white  horns  of  the  cattle 
Rose  like  flakes  of  foam  on  the  adverse 

currents  of  ocean. 
Silent  a  moment  they  gazed,  then  bel'ow- 

ing  rushed  o'er  the  prairie, 
And   the  whole   mass  became  a  cloud, 

a  shade  in  the  distance. 


i 


i  f 


i 


84 


E  V  A  N  G  H  L  1  N  E 


Then,  as  the  herdsman  turned  to  the 
house,  through  the  gate  of  the  garden 

Saw  he  the  forms  of  the  priest  and  the 
maiden  advancing  to  meet  him. 

Suddenly  down  from  his  horse  he  sprarig 
in  amazement,  and  forward 

Flushed  with  extended  arms  and  excla- 
mations of  wonder  ; 

When  they  beheld  his  face,  they  recog- 
nized Basil  the  blacksmith. 

Hearty  his  welcome  was,  as  he  led  his 
guests  to  the  garden. 

There  in  an  arbor  of  roses  with  endless 
question  and  answer 

Gave  they  vent  to  their  hearts,  and 
renewed  their  ii  iendly  embraces. 

Laughing  and  vvet.oing  by  turns,  or 
sitting  silcnc  and  ihccghtful. 

Thoughtful,  iof  Gabriel  came  not  ;  and 
now  dark  doubts  And  misgivings 

Stole  o'er  the  maiden's  heart  :  and  Basil 
somewhat  embarrassed, 

Broke  the  3'!ence  and  said,  "  If  you  came 
by  the  Atchafalaya, 

How  hav  you  nowhere  encountered  my 
Gabriel's  boat  on  the  bayous  ?  " 

Over  Evangeline's  face  at  the  words  of 
Basil  a  shade  passed. 


II 


! 


K  \'  A  N  (i  K  I.  1  N  K 


85 


Tears  came  into  her  eyes,  and  she   said, 

with  a  tremulous  accent  : 
"Gone?    is  Gabriel   j^^one  ?  "    and,  con- 
cealing her  face  on  his  shoulder. 
All   her  o'erburdened   heart   gave    way, 

and  she  wept  and  lamented. 
Then  the  good  Basil  said, — and  his  voice 

grew  blithe  as  he  said  it, — 
'*  Be   of  good  cheer,  my  child  ;  it  is  only 

to-day  he  departed. 
Foolish  boy  !  he  has  left  me  alone  with 

my  herds  and  my  horses. 
Moody  and  restless  grown,  and  tried  and 

troubled,  his  spirit 
Could  no  longer  endure  the  calm  ot    this 

quiet  existence. 
Thinking    ever   of   thee,    uncertain   and 

sorrowful  ever, 
Ever  silent,  or  speaking  only  of  thee  and 

his  troubles, 
He  at  length  had  become  so  tedious  to 

men  and  to  maidens, 
Tedious    even  to   me,   that  at   lengtli   I 

bethought  me,  and  sent  him 
Unto  the   town  of   Adayes  to  trade  tor 

mules  with  the  Spaniards. 
Thence  he  will  follow  the   Indian   trails 

to  the  Ozark  Mountains, 


86 


!•:  \   A  N  (  .  I'.  I .  I  N  !•; 


HiintiMj4  for  furs  m  ihe  forests,  on  rivers 
tr.ippiiij^f  the  beaver. 

Therefore  be  of  j^ood  eheer ;  we  will  fol- 
low the  fuj4:ilive  lover  ; 

He  IS  not  far  on  his  way,  and  the  I'ates 
and  the  streams  are  af^^ainst  him. 

Up  and  away  to-morrow,  and  through 
the  reil  dew  of  the  niornin}.f 

We  will  follow  him  fast,  and  bring  him 
back  to  his  piison." 

Then  glad  voices  were  heard,  and  up 
from  the  banks  of  the  river. 

Borne  aloft  on  his  comrades'  arms,  came 
Micliael  the  tiddler. 

Long  under  Basil's  roof  liad  he  lived  like 
a  god  on  Olympus, 

Having  no  other  care  tlian  dispensing 
music  to  mortals. 

Far  renowned  was  he  for  his  silver  locks 
and  his  liddle. 

"Long  live  Michael,"  they  cried,  "our 
brav     Acadian  minstrel  !  " 

As  they  bore  him  aloft  in  triumphal  pro- 
cession ;  and  straightway 

Father  Felician  advanced  with  Evange- 
line, greeting  the  old  man 


''hunting  for  furs  in  thf  forests  " 


1.1 


'i 


88 


EVAN  C,  K  L  1  N  IC 


Kindly  and  oft,  and  recalliuf^  the  past, 
while  Basil,  enraptured, 

Hailed  with  hilarious  joy  his  old  compan- 
ions and  gossips, 

Laujfhing  loud  and  lonj^,  and  embricinjj 
mothers  and  daughters. 

Much  they  marvelled  to  see  the  wealth 
of  the  ci-devant  blacksmith. 

All  his  domains  and  his  herds,  and  his 
patriarchal  demeanor ; 

Much  they  marvelled  to  hear  his  tales  of 
the  soil  and  the  climate, 

And  of  the  prairies,  whose  numberless 
herds  were  his  who  would  take 
them  ; 

Each  one  thought  in  his  heart,  that  he, 
too,  would  go  and  do  likewise. 

Thus  they  ascended  the  steps,  and,  cross- 
ing the  airy  veranda, 

Entered  the  hall  of  the  house,  where 
already  the  supper  of  Basil 

Waited  his  late  return  ;  and  they  rested 
and  feasted  together. 

Over  the  joyous  feast  the  sudden  dark- 
ness descended. 
All  was  silent  without,  and,  illuming  the 
landscape  with  silver, 


(i 


K  V  A  N  G  K  I.  I  N  li  . 


89 


Fair  rose  the  dewy  moon  and  the  myriad 

stars  ;  but  witliin  doors, 
Brighter  than  these,  shone  the   faces  of 

friends    in    the    glimmerinj,^    lamp- 
light. 
Then  from  his  station  aloft,  at   tiie  head 

of  the  table,  the  herdsman 
Poured    forth    his    heart  and     his  wine 

together  in  endless  profusion. 
Lighting  his  pipe,  that  was   Hlled  with 

sweet  Natchitoches  tobacco. 
Thus  he  spake  to  his  guests,  who  listened, 

and  smiled  as  they  listened  :  — 
"  Welcome  once  more,  my  friends,  who  so 

long  have  been  friendless  and  home- 
less, 
Welcome  once   more  to   a  home,  that  is 

better  perchance  than  the  old  one  ! 
Here    no  hungry    winter    congeals  our 

blood  like  the  rivers  ; 
Here    no    stony    ground    provokes     the 

wrath  of  the  farmer. 
Smoothly  the  ploughshare  runs  through 

the  soil,  as  a  keel  through  the  water. 
All  the  year  round  the  orange-groves  are 

in  blossom  ;  and  grass  grows 
More    in  a  single   night    than  a  whole 

Canadian  summer. 


V 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


I.I 


•^  1^    1112.2 
^   tiS.    I II  2.0 


m 


1.25      1.4   1 

1.6 

^ 6"     

► 

->, 


Photographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)872-4503 


t/. 


i9 


^ 


Qo 


K  \'  A  N  <;  K  I.  I  N  E 


Here,   loo,    numberless  herds    run   wild 
and  unclaimed  in  the  j)rairies; 

Here,  loo,  lands  may  be  had  for  ihe  ask- 
)nj(.  and  foresls  of  limber 

Willi  a  few  blows  of   ihe  axe  are   hewn 
and  framed  inlo  houses, 

Atier   your   houses  are   built,  and  youi 
tields  are  yellow  wiih  iiarvests, 

No  King  George  of  England  shall  drive 
you  away  from  your  homesleads, 

Hurninfj  your  dwellings  and  barns,  and 
siealing  your  farms  and  your  caltle." 

Speaking  these  words,  he  blew  a  wrath- 
ful cloud  from  his  nostrils, 

And  his  huge,  brawny  hand  came  thun- 
dering down  on  the  table, 

So  that  the  guests  all  started  ;  and  Father 
Felician,  astounded, 

Suddenly  paused,  with  a  pinch  of  snufiE 
half-way  to  his  nostrils. 

But   the   brave   Basil    resumed,   and  his 
words  were  milder  and  gayer  : — 

''  Only  beware  of  the  fever,  my  friends, 
beware  of  the  fever  ! 

For  it  is  not  like  that  of  our  cold  Acadian 
climate, 

Cured  by  wearing  a  spider  hung  round 
one's  neck  in  a  nutshell !  " 


K  \    A  \  (.  I-:  I.  1  N  K  . 


yt 


Then  there  were  voices  heard  at  tlie  door, 

and  footsteps  approachiiij^- 
Sounded  upon  the  stairs  and  the  tloor  of 

the  breezy  veranda. 
It  was  the  nei<jhborin^  Creoles  and  small 

Acadian  planters, 
Who    had    been    summoned    all    to   the 

house  of  Basil  the  Herdsman. 
Merry  the  meetinjj  was  of  ancient  com- 
rades and  neifjfhbors  : 
Friend  clasped   friend  in  his  arms  ;  and 

they  who  before  were  as  strangers. 
Meeting  in  exile,  became  straightway  as 

friends  to  each  other, 
Drawn  by  the  gentle  bond  of  a  common 

country  together. 
But  in   the  neighboring  hall  a  strain  of 

music,  proceeding 
From  the  accordant  strings  of  Michael's 

melodious  fiddle, 
Broke  up  all  further  speech.     Away,  like 

children  delighted. 
All  things  forgotten   beside,  they  gave 

themselves  to  the  maddening 
Whirl  of  the  dizzy  dance,  as  it  swept  and 

swayed  to  the  music, 
Dreamlike,   with  beaming  eyes  and  the 

rush  of  fluttering  garments. 


92 


EV  ANGELINA. 


Meanwhile,  apart,  at  the  head  of  the 
hall,  the  priest  and  the  herdsman 
Sat,   conversing    together  of     past  and 
present  and  future  ; 


ti 


FROM  THE  ACCORDANT  STRINGS  OP 
MICHAEL'S  MELODIOUS  FIDDLE." 


While  Evangeline  stood  like  one  en- 
tranced, for  within  her 

Olden  memories  rose,  and  loud  in  the 
midst  of  the  music 

Heard  she  the  sound  of  the  sea,  and  an 
irrepressible  sadness 


H  V  A  N  G  K  I.  I  N  R 


93 


le 


Came  o'er  her  heart,  and    unseen    she 

siole  forth  into  the  j^arden. 
Beautiful   was  the   night.      Behind   the 

black  wall  of  the  forest, 
Tipping  its  summit  with  silver,  arose  the 

moon.    On  the  river 
Fell  here  and  there  through  the  branches 

a  tremulous  gleam  of  the  moonlight, 
Like  the  sweet  thoughts  of  love    on  a 

darkened  and  devious  spirit, 
Nearer  and  round  about  her,  the  mani- 
fold flowers  of  the  garden 
Poured  out  their  souls  in  odors,  that  were 

their  pr-.yers  and  confessions 
Unto  the  night,  as  it  went  its  way,  like  a 

silent  Carthusian. 
Fuller  of  fragrance  than    they,  and  as 

heavy  with  shadows  and  n'ght-dews, 
Hung  the  heart  of  the  maiden.      The 

calm  and  the  magical  moonlight 
Seemed  to  inundate  her  soul  with  inde- 
finable longings. 
As,  through  the   garden  gate,  beneath 

the  brown  shade  of  the  oak-trees, 
Passed  she  along  the  path  to  the  edge  of 

the  measureless  prairie. 
Silent  it  lay,  with  a  silvery  haze  upon  it, 

and  fire-flies 


i^ 


94 


!■:  \  A  N  (.  !•;  1. 1  N  !•: 


Glcamin},'  and  floaiin}^  away  in  ininj^rlcd 


and  intiiiite  numbers. 


ih 


ouj;ht.s  o 


f 


Over  her  head  the  stars,  the 

God  in  the  heavens, 
Shone   on  the   eyes   of    man,   wlio     had 

ceased  to  marvel  and  worsliip, 
Save  when  a  bhizing  comet  was  seen  on 

the  walls  of  that  temple. 
As  if   a  hand  had  appeared  and  written 

upon  them,  "  Upharsin." 
And  the  soul  of  the  maiden,  belwren  the 

stars  and  the  fire-liies, 
Wandered    alone,    and     she     cricil,   "O 

Gabriel ;  O  my  beloved  ! 
Art  thou  so  near  unto  me,  and  yet  I  can- 
not behold  thee  ? 
Art  thou  so   near  unto   me,  and   yet  thy 

voice  does  not  reach  mc  ? 
Ah  !  how  often   thy  feet   have  trod   this 

path  to  the  prairie  ! 
Ah!  how  often    thine   eyes   have   looked 

on  the  woodlands  around  me  ! 
Ah  !  how  often  beneath  this  oak,  return- 
ing from  labor, 
Thou   hast    lain    down   to   rest,   and   to 

dream  of  me  in  thy  slumbers  ! 
When  shall  these  eyes  behold,  these  arms 

be  folded  about  thee  ?  " 


E  V  A  N  r.  K  I,  1  N  E  . 


95 


AND  FROM  THE  MOONLIT  MF.AIK)\V',  A 
SIGH  RESPONDED,  '  TO-MORROW  !'  " 


Loud  and  sudden  and  near  the  note  of  a 

whippoorvvill  sounded 
Like  a  flute  in  the  woods  ;    and   anon, 

through  the  neighboring  thickets, 
Farther  and  farther  away  it  floated  and 

dropped  into  silence. 
"  Patience  ! "  whispered  the  oaks  from 

oracular  caverns  of  darkness  : 
And,  from  the  moonlit  meadow,  a  sigh 

responded,  "  To-morrow  !  ' 

Bright  rose  the  sun  next  day  ;  and  all 
the  flowers  of  the  garden 
Bathed  his  shining  feet  with  their  tears, 
and  anointed  his  tresses 


f  if 


I 


■i 


^. 


96 


E  V  A  N  <;  R  L  I  N  E, 


With  the  delicious  balm  that  ihey  bore  in 

their  vases  of  crystal. 
**  Farewell ! "      said    the    priest,    as    he 

stood  at  the  shadowy  threshold  ; 
"  See   that    you    bring    us  the  Prodigal 

Son  from  his  fasting  and  famine, 
And,  loo,  the  Foolish  Vir"'n,  who  slept 

when  the  bridegrooi  ■  coming." 

"  Farewell !  "  answered  .       ...aiden,  and, 

smiling,  with  Basil  descended 
Down  to  the  river's  brink,   where  the 

boatmen  already  were  wailing. 
Thus  beginning  their  journey  with  morn- 
ing, and  sunshine,  and  gladness, 
Swiftly  they  followed  the  flight  of  him 

who  was  speeding  before  »hem, 
Blown  by  the  blast  of  fate  like  a  dead 

leaf  over  the  desert. 
Not  that  day,  nor  the  next,  nor  yet  the 

day  that  succeeded. 
Found  they  trace  of  his  course,  in  lake  or 

forest  or  river, 
Nor,  after  many  days  had  they  found 

him:  but  vague  and  uncertain 
Rumors  alone  were  their  guides  through 

a  wild  and  desolate  country  ; 
Till,  at  the  little  inn  of  the  Spanish  town 

of  Adayes, 


E  VANG  K  I,  I  N  E  . 


97 


Weary  and  worn,  ihey  alighted,  and 
learned  from  the  garrulous  landlord. 

That  on  the  day  before,  with  horses  and 
guides  and  companions, 

Gabriel  left  the  village,  and  took  the 
road  of  the  prairies. 

IV. 

Far  in  the  West  there  lies  a  desert  land, 

where  the  mountains 
Lift,  through  perpetual  snows,  their  lofty 

and  luminous  summits. 
Down  from  their  jagged,  deep  ravines, 

where  the  gorge,  like  a  gateway. 
Opens  a  passage  rude  to  the  wheels  of 

the  emigrant's  wagon, 
Westward    the    Oregon    flows    and    the 

Walleway  and  Owyhee. 
Eastward,    with  devious  course,  among 

the  Wind-river  Mountains, 
Through  the  Sweet-water  Valley  precip- 
itate leaps  the  Nebraska  ; 
And  to    the  south,  from    Fontaine-qui- 

bout  and  the  Spanish  sierras. 
Fretted  with  sands  and  rocks,  and  swept 

by  the  wind  of  the  desert. 
Numberless     torrents,    with     ceaseless 

sound,  descend  to  the  ocean, 


I 


if 


98 


E  V  A  \  <;  !•:  I.  r  n  k 


I 


Like  the  j,'rcat  chonls  of  a  harp,  in    loud 

and  solemn  vibrations. 
Spread  in  J,'  between  these  streams  are  the 

wondrous,  beautiful  prairies, 
Billowy   bays  of    j^rass  ever  rollinj^    in 

shadow  and  sunshine, 
Bright   with   luxuriant   clusters  of   roses 

and  purple  amorphas. 
Over  them  wander  the  buffalo  herds;  and 

the  elk  and  the  roe-buck  ; 
Over  them  wander  the  wolves,  and  herds 

of  riderless  horses  : 
Fires   that   blast  and   blij,du.  and  winds 

that  are  weary  with  travel  ; 
Over  them  wander  the  scattered    tribes 

of  Ishmael's  children. 
Staining    the    desert   with    blood  ;    and 

above  their  terrible  war-trails 
Circles  and  sails  aloft,  on  pinions  majes- 
tic, the  vulture, 
Like  the  implacable  soul  of  a  chieftain 

slaughtered  in  battle, 
By  invisible  stairs  ascending  and  scaling 

the  heavens. 
Here   and   there    rise  smokes  from  the 

camps  of  these  savage  marauders  ; 
Here  and  there  rise    groves    from   the 

margins  of  swift-running  rivers ; 


i 


OVFR   THEM    WANDER     THE      SCATTERED 
TRIBES  OF  ISHMAEL's  CHILDREN." 


I 


\ 


\ 


it! 


I<H) 


K  V  A  N  (i  K   LINK. 


And  the  unm,  t.iciturn  bear,  the  ancho- 
rite monk  of  the  desert, 

Climbs  down  their  d;irlc  ravines  to  dig 
for  roots  by  the  brook-side, 

And  over  all  is  the  sky,  the  clear  and 
crystalline  heaven, 

Like  the  protecting  hand  of  God  in- 
verted above  them. 


,     ..J  t: 


..  ,4«'J 


Into  this  wonderful  land,  at  the  base 

of  the  Ozark  Mountains, 
Gabriel   far  had   entered,   with    hunters 

and  trappers  behind  him. 
Day  after  day,  with  their  Indian  guides, 

the  maiden  and  Basil 
Followed   his  Hying  steps,  and  thought 

each  day  to  o'ertake  him. 
Sometimes  they  saw,  or    thought  they 

saw,  the  smoke  of  his  camp-fire 
Rise  in  the  morning  air  from  the  distant 

plain  ;  but  at  nightfall. 
When  they  had  reached   the  place,  they 

found  only  embers  and  ashes. 
And,   though  their  hearts  were  sad   at 

times  and  their  bodies  were  weary, 
Hope  still  guided  them  on,  as  the   magic 

Fata  Morgana 


K  \  A  N  G  !•:  LINK. 


lOI 


Showed  them  lier  hikes  of   Uulit,  that  re- 
irculed  and  vanished  before  iliem. 


Once,  as  they  sat  by  their  cveninj;  tire, 

there  silently  entered 
Into  the  little  camp  an  Indian  woman, 

whose  features 
Wore  deep    traces    of   sorrow,  and    pa- 
tience as  j^^reat  as  her  sorrow. 
She   was  a    Shawnee   woman  returning 

hf)me  to  her  fieople, 
From  the  far-off  hunting-grounds  of  the 

cruel  Camanches, 
Where  her  Canadian  husband,  a  Coureur- 

des-Bois.  had  been  murdered. 
Touched  were  their  hearts  at  her  story, 

and  warmest  and  friendliest  welcome 
Gave  they,  with  words  of  cheer,  and  she 

sat  and  feasted  amonj?  them 
On   the    buffalo-meat    and    the   venison 

cooked  on  the  embers. 
But  when  their  meal  was  done,  and  Basil 

and  his  companions, 
Worn  with  the  long  day's  march  and  the 

chase  of  the  deer  and  the  bison. 
Stretched  themselves  on  the  ground,  and 

slept  where  the  quivering  rtre-light 
Flashed  on   their    swarthy  cheeks,  and 


i  i 

!  t 

( 


,:£•; 


::■ 


•  w 


THERE      SILENTLY       ENTERED      INTO    THE 
LITTLE  CAMP  AN  INDIAN  WOMAN." 


.:1 


K  V  A  N  Ci  K  I.  I  N  l- 


103 


their  forms  wrapped    up     in     their 
blankets 
Then  at  the  door  of  Evangeline's  tent 

she  sat  and  repeated 
Slowly,  with  soft,   low  voice,   an.'    the 

charm  of  her  Indian  accent, 
AH  the  talc  of  her   love,  with   its   pleas- 
ures, and  pains,  and  reverses. 
Much  Evangeline  wept  at   the  tale,  and 

to  know  that  another 
Hapless  heart  like  her  own  had  loved 

and  had  been  disappointed. 
Moved  to  the  depths  of  her  soul  by  pity 

and  woman's  compassion. 
Yet  in  her  sorrow  pleased  that  one  who 

had  suffered  was  near  her, 
She  in  turn  related  her  love  and  all  its 

disasters. 
Mute  with  wonder  the  Shawnee  sat,  and 

when  she  had  ended 
Still  was  mute  ;  but  at  length,  as  if  a 

mysterious  horror 
Piissed  through  her  brain,  she  spake,  and 

repeated  the  tale  of  the  Movvis  ; 
Mowis,   the   bridegroom   of  snow,   who 

won  and  wedded  a  maiden, 
But,  when  the  morning  came,  arose  and 
passed  from  the  wigwam, 


i' 


I04 


EVANGELINE. 


J'l 


4 


I: 


Fading  and  melting  away  and  dissolving 

into  the  sunshine, 
Till  she  beheld  him  no  more,  though  she 

followed  far  into  the  forest. 
Then,  in   those    sweet,  low   tones,  that 

seemed  like  a  weird  incantation, 
Told  she  the  tale  of  the  fair  Lilinau,  who 

was  wooed  by  a  phantom, 
That,  through  the  pines  o'er  her  father's 

lodge,  in  the  hush  of  the  twilight, 
Breathed     like  the    evening  wind,  and 

whispered  love  to  the  maiden, 
Till  she  followed   his  green  and  waving 

plume  through  the  forest, 
And  never  more  returned,  nor  was  seen 

again  by  her  people. 
Silent  with  wonder  and  strange  surprise, 

Evangeline  listened 
To  the  soft  flow  of   her  magical  words, 

till  the  region  around  her 
Seemed  like  enchanted  ground,  and  her 

swarthy  guest  the  enchantress. 
Slowly   over    the      tops    of     the  Ozark 

Mountains  the  moon  rose, 
Lighting  the  little  tent,  and  with  a  mys- 
terious splendor 
Touching  the  sombre  leaves,  and  embrac- 
ing and  filling  the  woodland. 


E  V  A  N  ti  K  1.  I  N  K 


»^'5 


With  a  delicious  sound  the  brook  rushed 

by,  and  the  branches 
Swayed  and  sighed  overhead  in  scarcely 

audible  whispers. 


SLOWLY  OVER  THE  TOrS  OK  THK  OZAKK 
MOUNIAINS  THE  MOON  KDSE." 


Filled  with  the  thoughts  of  love  was 
Evangeline's  heart,  but  a  secret, 

Subtile  sense  crept  in  of  pain  and  indef- 
inite terror. 

As  the  cold,  poisonous  snake  creeps  into 
the  nest  of  the  swallow. 

It  was  no  earthly  fear.  A  breath  from 
the  region  of  spirits 


io6 


K  V  A  N  C.  K  I.  I  N  K 


Seemed  (o  float  in  the  air  of  nijjhl ;  and 
she  felt  for  a  moment 

That,  like  the  Indian  maid,  she,  too,  was 
pursuinfT  a  pliantom. 

And  with  this  ;housht  she  slept,  and  the 
fear  and  ti'e  phantom  had  van- 
ished. 


Early  upon  the  morrow  the  march  was 

resumed  ;  and  the  Shawnee 
Said,  as  they  journeyed   along,  "On  the 

western  slope  of  these  mountains 
Dwells   in   his   little   villajje   the     Black 

Robe  chief  of  the  Mission. 
Much   lie   teaches  the  people,  and   tells 

them  of  Mary  and  Jesus  ; 
Loud   laugh  their  hearts  with  joy,  and 

weep  with  pain,  as  they  hear  him." 
Then,  with  a  sudden  and  secret  emotion, 

Evanijcline  answered, 
"  Let  us  go  to  the  .Mission,  for  there  good 

tidings  await  us  !  " 
Thither  they  turned   their  steeds;  and 

behind  a  spur  of  the  mountains, 
Just  as  the  sun  went  down,  they  heard  a 

murmur  of  voices. 
And  in   a  meadow  green   and   broad,  by 

thci  bank  of  a  river, 


i^^ 


E  V  A  N  (i  KLIN  K  . 


107 


Saw  the  tents  of  the  Christians,  the  icius 

of  the  Jesuit  Mission. 
Under  a  towering'  oak,  that  stood  in  the 

midst  of  the  village, 
Knek    the   Black    Robe  chief    with   his 

children.     A  crucifix  fastened 
High  on  the  trunk  cf  the  tree,  and  over- 
shadowed by  grapevines. 
Looked  with   its  agonized    face    on   the 

multitude  kneeling  beneath  it. 
This    was    their    rural    chapel.       Aloft. 

through  the  intricate  arches 
Ot  its  aerial  roof,  arose  the  chant  of  their 

vespers. 
Mingling  its  notes  with  the  soft  susurrus 

anJ.  sighs  of  the  branches. 
Silent,  with  heads  uncovered,  the  travel- 
lers, nearer  approaching, 
Knelt  on  the  swarded  floor,  and  joined  in 

the  evening  devotions. 
But  when  the  service  was  done,  and   the 

benediction  had  fallen 
Forth  from  the  hands  of  the  priest,  like 

seed  from  the  hands  of  the  sow^r. 
Slowly  the  reverend  man  advanced   to 

the  strangers,  and  bade  them 
Welcome;    and   when  they  replied,  he 
smiled  with  benignant  expression. 


io8 


!•:  V  A  N  <;  E  L  I  N  E . 


'H-» 


Hearing     the    homelike    sounds    of    his 

mother-tonpue  in  the  forest, 
And,  with  words  of  kindness,  conducted 

them  into  his  wijj^wam. 
There  upon  mats  and  skins  they  reposed, 

and  on  cakes  of  the  maize-ear 
Feasted,  and  slaked  their  thirst  from  the 

water-^ourd  of  the  teacher. 
Soon  was  their  story  told  ;  and  the  priest 

with  solemnity  answered  : — 
*•  Not  six  suns  have  risen  and   set  since 

Gabriel,  seated 
On  this  mat  by  my  side,  where  now  the 

maiden  reposes. 
Told  me  this  same  sai  tale  ;  then  arose 

and  continued  his  journey  !  " 
Soft  was  the  voice  of  the  priest,  and   he 

spake  with  an  accent  of  kindness  ; 
But  on  Evangeline's  heart  fell  his  words 

as  in  winter  the  snow-flakes 
Fall  into  some  lone  nest  from  which  the 

birds  have  departed. 
*'  Far  to  the  north   he  has  gone,"  con- 
tinued the  priest  ;  "  but  in  autumn. 
When    the  chase  is    done,  will    return 

again  to  the  Mission." 
Then  Evangeline  said,    and  her   voice 

was  meek  and  submissive, 


KM 


K  V  A  N  (i  K  I.  INK. 


log 


t 


*'  Let  me  remain  with  thee,  for  my  soul 
is  sad  and  afflicted." 

So  seemed  it  wise  and  well  unto  all  ;  and 
betimes  on  the  morrow, 

Mounting?  his  Mexican  steed,  with    his 
Indian  pfuides  and  companions. 

Homeward  Basil  returned,  and  Evange- 
line stayed  at  the  Mission. 

Slowly,  slowly,  slowly  the    days  suc- 
ceeded each  other,— 
Days  and   wecVs  and  months;  i.nd  the 
fields   of    maize    that    were    spring- 
ing 
Green  from  the  ground  when  a  stranger 

she  came,  now  waving  above  her. 
Lifted  their  slender  shafts,  with  leaves 

interlacing,  and  forming 
Cloisters  for  mendicant  crows  and  gran- 
aries pillaged  by  squirrels. 
Then  in  the  golden  weather  the  maize 

was  husked,  and  the  maidens 
Blushed  at  each  blood-red  ear,  for   that 

betokened  a  lover. 
But  at  the  crooked  laughed,  and  called  it 

a  thief  in  the  cornfield. 
Even  the  blood-red  ear  to  Evangeline 
brought  not  her  lover. 


I  'f! 


(t  ( 


PATIENCE  !  '  THE  PRIEST  WOULD  SAY.' 


!•;  V  A  N  (.  K  I.  I  N  !•:  . 


1 1 1 


*'  Patience  I  ''     the    priest     vvoukl    say ; 

"  have  faith  and  thy  prayer  will  be 

answered  ! 
Look  at  this  delicate  plant  that  lifts  its 

head  from  the  meadow, 
See  how  its  leaves  all  point  to  the  north, 

as  true  as  the  magnet ; 
It  is  the  compass-flower,  that  the  linger 

of  God  has  suspended 
Here  on   its  fragile  stalk,  to  direct  the 

traveller's  journey 
Over    the  sea-like,    pathless,    limitless 

waste  of  the  desert. 
Such  in  the  soul  of  man  is  faith.    The 

blossoms  of  passion. 
Gay  and  luxuriant  flowers,  are  brighter 

and  fuller  of  fragrance, 
But  they  beguile  us,  and  lead  us  astray, 

and  their  odor  is  deadly. 
Only  this  humble  plant  can  guide  us  here, 

and  hereafter 
Crown  us  with  asphodel  flowers,  that  are 

wet  with  the  dews  of  nepenthe." 

So  came  the  autumn,  and  passed,  and 
the  winter, — yet  Gabriel  came  not ; 
Blossomed  the  opening  spring,   and  the 
notes  of  the  robin  and  bluebird 


112 


E  V  A  N  i,  K  I.I  N  K. 


I',      >' 


m 


Sounded  sweet  upon  wold  and  in  wood, 

yet  Gabriel  came  not, 
But  on  the  breath  of  the  summer  winds  a 

rumor  was  wafted 
Sweeter  than  song  of  bird,  or  hue  or  odor 

of  blossom. 
Far  to  the  north  and  east,  it  said,  in  the 

Michigan  forests, 
Gabriel  had  his  lodge  by  the  banks  of  the 

Saginaw  River. 
And,  with  returning  guides,  that  sought 

the  lakes  of  St.  Lawrence, 
Saying  a  sad  farewell,  Evangeline  went 

from  the  Mission. 
When  over  weary  ways,  by  long  and  per- 
ilous marches, 
She  had  attained  at  length  the  depths  of 

the  Michigan  forests, 
Found  she  the  hunter's  lodge  deserted 

and  fallen  to  ruin  ! 


Thus  did  the  long  sad  years  glide  on, 

and  in  seasons  and  places 
Divers    and    distant    far  was    seen    the 

wandering  maiden  ; — 
Now  in  the  Tents  of  Grace  of  the  meek 

Moravian  Missions, 


li 


K  V  A  N  i,  K  I.  INK. 


113 


P. 


U 


Now  in  the  noisy  camps  and  the  batiU- 

t\^\^.\s  of  the  army. 
Now  in  secluded  hamlets,  in  towns  and 

populous  cities. 
Like  a  phantom  she  came,  and   passed 

away  unremembered. 
Fair  was  she  and  young,  when   in  hope 

began  the  long  journey  ; 
Faded  was  she  and  old,  when  in  disap- 
pointment it  ended. 
Each   succeeding  year  stole    something 

away  from  her  beautyi 
Leaving  behind   it,  broader  and  deeper, 

the  gloom  and  the  shadow. 
Then  there  appeared  and  spread   faint 

streaks  of  gray  o'er  her  forehead, 
Dawn  of  another  life,  that  broke  o'er  her 

earthly  horizon, 
As  in  the  eastern  sky  the  first  faint  streaks 

of  the  morning. 

V. 

In  that  delightful  land  which  is  washed 

by  the  Delaware's  waters, 
Guarding  in  sylvan  shades  the  name  of 

Penn  the  apostle, 
Stands    on    the   banks   of    its   beautful 

-tream  the  city  he  founded 


114 


K  V  A  N  c;  K  I.  I  N  K 


There  all  the  air  is  l)alin,an(i  the  peach  is 

the  emblem  of  beauty, 
And  the  streets  still  re-echo  the  names  of 

the  trees  of  the  forest, 
As  if  they  fain  would  appease  the  Dryads 

whose  haunts  they  molested. 
There  from  t'?  troubled  sea  hud  Evange- 
line landed,  an  exile, 
Findinpr  among-  the  children  of  Penn  a 

home  and  a  country. 
There  old  Rene    Leblanc  had  died  ;  and 

when  he  departed, 
Saw  at  his  side  only  one  of  all  his  hun- 

dred  descendants. 
Something  at    least    there    was  in  the 

friendly  streets  of  the  city, 
Something  that  spake   to  her  heart,  and 

made  her  no  longer  a  stranger  ; 
And  her  ear  was  pleased  with  the  Thee 

and  Thou  of  the  Quakers, 
For  it  recalled  the  past,  the  old  Acadian 

country, 
Where  all  men  were  equal,  and   all  were 

brothers  and  sisters. 
So,  when  the  fruitless  search,  the  disap- 
pointed endeavor, 
Ended,  to    recommence    no  more  upon 

earth,  uncomplaining, 


KV  A  N  (.  Kl.  1  N  K 


1 1 ' 


Thitlu-r,   as   leaves     to    tlie   liKht.   "^^crc 

tiiriK'cl  her  thoughts  atul  her  footsteps 

As  from  a  niouiuain's  top  the  rainy  inisls 

of  the  morning 

Roll  away,  and  afar  we  heliolil  the  land- 
scape below  us, 

Sun-illumined,  with  shining    rivers  and 
cities  and  hamlets. 

So  fell  ilie  mists  from  her  mind,  and  she 
saw  the  world  far  below  her, 

Dark  no  lon;,a'r.  but  all   illumined   with 
love  ;  and  the  pathway 

Which   she    had    climbed   so  far,  lying 
smooth  and  fair  in  the  distance. 

Gabriel  was  not  forgotten.     Within  her 
heart  was  his  image, 

Clothed  in  the  beauty  of  love  and  youth, 
as  last  she  beheld  him, 

Only  more  beautiful  made  by  his  death- 
like silence  and  absence. 

Into  her  thoughts  of  him  time  entered 
not,  for  it  was  not. 

Over  him  years  had  no  power;  he  was 
not  changed,  but  transfigured  ; 

He  had  become  to  her  heart  as  one  who 
is  dead,  and  not  absent ; 

patience  and  abnegation  of  self,  and  de- 
votion to  others, 


ii 


1  in 


K  \-  A  N  G  K  L  I  N  H  . 


IP 

Hi 


This  was  the  lesson  a  life  of  trial  and  sor- 
row had  taught  her.        '' 

So   was  hrr    love    diffused,  but.   like   to 
some  odorous  spices. 

Suffered  no  waste  nor  loss,  though  tilling 
the  air  with  aroma. 

Other  hope  had  she  none,  nor  wish  in  life, 
but  to  follow 

Meekiy,  with  reverent  steps,  the  sacred 
feet  of  her  Saviour. 

Thus  many  years  she  lived  as  a  Sister  of 
Mercy  ;  frequenting 

Lonely  and  wretched  roofs  in  the  crowd- 
ed lanes  of  the  city, 

Where  distress  and  want  concealed  them- 
selves from  the  sunlight. 

Where  disease     and   sorrow    in   garrets 
languished  neglected. 

Night  after  night,  when  the  world  was 
asleep,  as  the  watchman  repeated 

Loud,  through  the  gusty  streets,  that  all 
was  well  in  the  city. 

High  at  some  lonely  window  he  saw  the 
light  of  her  taper. 

Day  after  day,  in  the  gray  of  the  dawn, 
as  slow  through  the  suburbs 

Plodded      the     German     farmer,     with 
flowers  and  fruits  for  the  market, 


EVA  N  C;  E  I.  I  N  K 


"7 


Met  he  that  meek,  pale  face,  returnin{jf 
home  from  its  watchings. 

Then  it  came  to  pass  that  a  pestilence 
fell  on  the  city, 


AS   THE    WATCHMAN    KEI'EATKI)  l.oLI), 
THROUGH  THE  GUSTY  STREETS,   I  HAT 
ALL  WAS  WELL  IN  THE  CITY." 


Presaged  by  wondrous  signs,  and  mostly 

by  flocks  of  wild  pigeons, 
Darkening  the  sun  in   their  flight,  with 

naught  in  their  craws  but  an  acorn. 
And,  as  the  tides  of  the  sea  arise  in   the 

month  of  September, 


■' 


! 


I 
I 
If 

n 


H 


110 


I".  \-  A  N  G  K  1. 1  r;  K  . 


ft.      ■<; 


1^ 


ti 


Floodiii.ir  some  silver  sireain,  till  il 
spreads  lo  a  lake  in  ihe  meadow, 

So  death  Hooded  life,  and,  o'ertlovvin^^  lis 
natural  mar{4in, 

Spread  io  a  brackisli  lake,  the  silver 
stream  of  existenee. 

Wealth  had  no  power  to  bribe,  nor 
beauty  to  eharm,  the  oppressor  ; 

But  all  perished  alike  beneath  the  scourge 
of  his  anger  ;— 

Only,  alas!  the  poor  who  had  neither 
friends  nor  attendants, 

Crept  away  to  die  in  the  almshouse, 
home  of  the  homeless. 

Then  in  the  suburbs  it  stood,  in  the 
midst  of  meadows  and  woodlands  ; — 

Now^  the  city  surrounds  it ;  but  still,  with 
its  gateway  and  wicket 

Meek,  in  the  midst  of  splendor,  its  hum- 
ble walls  seem  to  echo 

Softly  the  words  of  the  Lord: — "The 
poor  ye  always  have  with  you." 

Thither,  by  night  and  by  day,  came  the 
Sister  of  Mercy.     The  dying 

Looked  up  into  her  face,  and  thought,  in- 
deed, to  behold  there 

Gleams  of  celestial  light  encircle  her 
forehead  with  splendor, 


Is      i 


)•;  \'  A  N  <  .  1-.  I.  I  N   i'. 


i 


Siuh  as  llu'   iirlist   puiiUs  o'er  -.lu-  brows 

of  saints  and  ai)ostlcs. 
Or  such  as  lianj^^s   by  nii;lit  o'er   a  ciiy 

seen  at  a  ilistanci'. 
Unto  their  eyes  it  seemed   the    lami)S  of 

tlie  city  celestial, 
Into   wiiose  shinin.i,'-   i,'-atcs  erelonj^-  their 

spirits  would  enter. 

Thus  on  a  Sabbath  morn,  throui^h  the 

streets,  deserted  and  silent, 
Wencmjrher  cjuiet  way,  she   entered  the 

'.oor  of  the  almshouse. 
Sweet  on  the  summer  air  was  the  (jdor  of 

flowers  in  the  garden  ; 
And  she  paused  on  her  way  to  ^jather  the 

fairest  among  them, 
That  the  dying  once  more  might  rejoice 

in  their  fragrance  and  beauty. 
Then,  as  she   mounted  the   stairs  to  the 

corridors,      cooled      by       the      east- 
wind, 
Distant  and  soft  on  her  ear  fell  the  chimes 

from  the  belfry  of  Christ  Church, 
While,   intermingled   with  these,   across 

the  meadows  were  wafted 
Sounds  of  psalms,  that  were  sung  by  the 

Swedes  in  their  church  at  Wicaco. 


^J 


J20 


E  V  A  N  c;  R  I.  INK. 


II 


m; 


Soft  as  descending  wings  fell  the  calm  of 

the  hour  on  her  spirit ; 
Something  vviihin  her  said,  "  At  length 

thy  trials  are  ended  "  ; 
And,  with  light  in  her  looks,  she  entered 

the  chambers  of  sickness. 
Noiselessly  moved  about   the  assiduous, 

careful  attendants. 
Moistening  the  feverish  lip,  and  the  ach- 
ing brow,  and  in  silence 
Closing  the  sightless  eyes  of  the  dead, 

and  concealing  their  faces, 
Where  on    their    pallets   they   lay,   like 

drifts  of  snow  by  the  roadside. 
Many  a  languid  head,  upraised  as  Evan- 
geline entered, 
Turned    on  its  pillow    of  pain   to  gaze 

while  she  passed,  for  her  presence 
Fell  on  their  hearts  like  a  ray  of  the  sun 

on  the  walls  of  a  prison. 
And,  as  she  looked  around,  she  saw  how 

Death,  the  consoler, 
Laying  his  hand  upon  many  a  heart,  had 

healed  it  forever. 
Many  familiar  forms  had  disappeared  in 

the  night  time  ; 
Vacant  their  places  were,  or  filled  already 

by  strangers. 


■i 


i:-    i^ 


i' 


EVAN  C.  E  I.  1  N  K 


121 


•41** 


"  WAS  STKETCHKl)    IHK   KOKM  OK  AN 
OLD  man/' 

Suddenly,   as  if  arrested  by  fea-  or  a 

feeling  of  wonder. 
Still  she  stood,  with   her  colorless  lips 

apart,  while  a  shudder 
Ran  through  her  frame,  and,  forgotten, 

the  flowerets  dropped  from  her  rin- 
gers, 
And  from  her  eyes  and  cheeks  the  light 

and  bloom  of  the  morning. 
Then  there  escaped  from  her  lips  a  cry 

of  such  terrible  anguish. 
That  the  dying  heard  it,  and  started   up 

from  their  pillows. 
On  the  pallet  before  her  was  stretched 

the  form  of  an  old  man. 
Long,  and  thin,  and  gray  were  the  locks 

that  shaded  his  temples  ; 


ft 

ill 


132 


K  V  A  N  r,  i:  I.  I  N  !••, . 


J  i- 


But,  as  lie   lay  in   the  inorninj,^  I'J^^lU,  his 

face  for  a  iiioinent 
Seemed  to  assume  once  more  the  forms 

of  its  earlier  manhood; 
So  are  wont  to  be  chan^^ed   the   faces  of 

those  who  are  dyin^^ 
Hoi  and  red  on  his  lips  still  burned  the 

tlush  of  the  fever, 
As  if  life,  like  the  Hebrew,  with  blood 

had  besprinkled  its  portals, 
That  the  Anijel  of  Death,  mif^dit  see  the 

si,i,n"i,  and  j/ass  over. 
Motionless,  senseless,  dying,  he  lay,  and 

his  spirit  exhausted 
Seemed  to  be  sinking  down  through  in- 

linite  depths  in  the  darkness. 
Darkness  of  slumber  and  death,  forever 

sinking  and  sinking. 
Then  through  those  realms  of  shade,  in 

multiplied  reverberations. 
Heard  he  that  cry  of  pain,  and  through 

the  hush  that  succeeded 
Whispered   a    gentle    voice,   in    accents 

tender  and  saint  like, 
"  Gabriel !    O   my  oeloved  !  "    and   died 

away  into  silence. 
Then  he  beheld,  in  a  dream,  once  more 

the  home  of  his  childhood; 


I 


)■:  \   A  N  C.  K   1,  I  N  I'-.  . 


'23 


Green    Acadian    meadows,   with   sylvan 
rivers  amonj^  them, 

Villaj^^c,  and  mountain,  and  woodhmds; 
and,  walkin^^  under  their  shadow, 

As  in  tlie  days  of  her  youtli,  Evan^^eline 
rose  in  his  vision. 

Tears  came  into  his  eyes  ;  and  as  slowly 
he  lifted  his  eyelids. 

Vanished  the  vision  away,  but  Evange- 
line knelt  by  his  bedside. 

Vainly  he  strove  to  whisper  her  name, 
for  the  accents  unuttered 

Died  on  his  lips,  and  their  motion  re- 
vealed what  his  tongue  would  have 
spoken. 

Vainly  he  strove  to  rise  ;  and  Evange- 
line, kneeling  beside  him. 
Kissed  his  dying  lips,  and  laid  his  head 

on  her  bosom. 
Sweet  was  the  light  of  his  eyes  ;  but  it 

suddenly  sank  into  darkness. 
As  when  a  lamp  is  blown  out  by  a  gust 
of  wind  at  a  casement. 

All  was  ended  now,  the  hope,  and  the 
fear,  and  the  sorrow. 
All  the  aching  of  heart,  the  restless,  un- 
satisfied longing. 


134 


K  \   A  N  O  K  L  I  N  K 


All  the  dull,  deep  pain,  and  constant 
anguish  of  patience ! 

And,  as  she  pressed  once  more  the  life- 
less head  to  her  bosom. 

Meekly  she  bowed  her  own,  and  mur- 
mured, "  Father,  I  thank  thee." 


Still   stands   the   forest  primeval  ;  but 

far  away  from  its  shadow. 
Side  by  side,  in  their  nameless  graves, 

the  lovers  are  sleeping. 
Under   the  humble    walls  of    the    little 

Catholic  churchyard, 
In  the  heart  of  the  city,  they  lie,  unknown 

and  unnoticed. 
Daily   the  tides  of   life  go  ebbing  and 

flowing  beside  them, 
Thousands  of  throbbing  hearts,  where 

theirs  are  at  rest  forever, 
Thousands     of     aching     brains,    where 

theirs  no  longer  are  busy, 
Thousands  of  toiling  hands,  where  theirs 

have  ceased  from  their  labors, 
Thousands  of  weary  feet,  where  theirs 

have  completed  their  journey  ! 

Still  stands  the  forest  primeval  ;    but 
under  the  shade  of  its  branches 


hi 


\ 


K  V  A  N  (i  KLi  N  K  . 


l-!5 


I 


Dwells  another  race,  with  other  customs 
and  languaj,'e. 

Only  aloni^'  the  shore  of   the  mournful 
and  misty  Atlantic 

Linger  a  few  Acadian  peasants,  whose 
fathers  from  exile 

Wandered   back   to  their  native  land  to 
die  in  its  bosom. 

In  llie  fisherman's  cot  the  wheel  and  the 
loom  are  still  busy  ; 

Maidens  still   wear  their  Norman   caps 

and  their  kirtles  of  home-spun, 
And  by  the  evening'  fire   repeat  Evanj,'e- 

line's  story, 
While  from  its  rocky  caverns  the   deep- 
voiced,  neighboring  ocean 
Speaks,  and  in  accents  disconsolate  an- 
swers the  wail  of  the  forest. 


I 
I' 


